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.

Three Things

 

Thing Number 1:  A Request from an Unlikely Source

About a month ago I received a very encouraging email from a colleague and friend in Gambella, Rev. Gnigwo Omod, the president of the East Gambella Bethel Synod (EGBS) which is made up mostly of Anywaa people. The West Gambella Bethel Synod (WGBS), whose offices are on the other side of town, is headed up by Rev. James Gatdet Tang and is made up mostly by Nuer people. 

If you've followed our work very closely, you know that the Anywaa and Nuer are frequently in conflict for reasons that are sometimes clear and sometimes not. This conflict has been going on for generations. Anywaa and Nuer rarely stick up for each other for any reason. There is a lot of jealousy and finger pointing in both directions. 

Gnigwo wrote regarding two issues. The first was a notification that the Nuer community had been attacked during a spiritual conference (much like a tent revival meeting) organized by the women of that area. He asked for prayers for the Nuer community.  A neighboring people group, who are notorious for such attacks on both Anywaa and Nuer, raided the area during the meeting, killing several people (mostly women) and injuring many others. In addition, he requested prayer for peace and reconciliation in the area and for the strength and courage for the church leaders in doing their part. 

Revs. James Gatdet Tang & Gnigwo Omod

Secondly, Gnigwo made a request on behalf of the WGBS for funds for the purchase of a Toyota Land Cruiser. This has been a need for many years. The one that synod has is more than 20 years old and is hardly worth repairing any more, because the repairs cost more than you would pay for a new car in the US. The Outreach Foundation has agreed to collect donations and send the funding on when it reaches the amount needed. I hesitate to tell you how much is needed, you will be horrified and maybe scared away from donating.  ... minimum $60,000 for a used one; it would be better if they could buy a new one - more than twice that amount! Would you consider honoring Rev. Gnigwo's selfless request by making any small or large donation to help carry on the work of the WGBS. 

Since they have no useable vehicle, Rev. James must beg a ride from another organization in order to make a pastoral visit to the community grieving the loss of so many people. Click here to give online and to find mail-in directions. Make a note on your check that your donation is for "WGBS Vehicle" or at the bottom of the online site check "other" and write that in.

And please do remember the Gambella region in your prayers. Violence continues to disturb the peace in Gambella town as well as the surrounding area. There seems to be no solution. We know that Jesus is central to any possible solution.

Thing Number 2: Rachel's High Adventure

I learned from my dad that life is always an adventure, but when going to new places and doing new things (like getting ice cream at a place you've never been before!) it's a High Adventure! I am in the process of starting a High Adventure.

Gabi & me off on another Jeep adventure!

For six months, I tried working at a local hospital - just to have something to do, to see if I can still do "American nursing", and to have some spending money. That zapped my joy and took up more time in the week than I had to give. So I sat down and talked to God who pointed out to me that I have gifts and training that fit a special need in the US. 

You are well aware, I'm sure, that there are many African immigrants who have come to the US to escape all the problems of their home countries and villages. What is very evident, though, is that those problems don't just drop off at the check-in counter for their flights out. Immigrating to the US is a lot harder than it might seem and when a person arrives carrying the baggage of years of turmoil and poverty, life in the US can be unbearable. 

As a Master Equipper in Trauma Healing, I am trained to bring people together to do part of the work towards healing those pains. I am now in the process of becoming a Bridges Leader to do just that as a vocation. Bridges is an organization that will help me to work through my own non-profit, which I haven't named yet! It will mean some travel to places like Nebraska and Minnesota, where there are many Nuer and Anywaa immigrants. It will probably also mean zoom meetings. 

In addition, there are people closer to where I live who have been affected by similar trauma. The opioid crisis hit the region of southwest Virginia where we now live very hard. Where coal was once a major industry, jobs are scarce now. I hope to connect with people here trying to put the next foot forward towards living a productive and peaceful life again. 

Obviously, I haven't worked out the details, yet, but this is the High Adventure I'm preparing for. Of course, I will need funding. I'll get back to that next time! And a lot of what I do will depend on how "Thing Number 3" progresses.

Thing Number 3: A Couple of Tumors

Having been completely symptom free and having always had "perfect" MRIs for

With hair again!

the past two years, we were surprised by the two small white blobs that showed up where they don't belong in Michael's brain this week. He is still symptom-free. We give thanks for that! And we give thanks for the progress in the medical and scientific understanding of our bodies that were so wonderfully and fearfully made. 

Over the next several weeks he will undergo a biopsy, treatment with chemotherapy, and surgery to remove what doesn't belong in his brain. The Duke Hospital doctors are hopeful because the tumors are still small and not "reaching out" (yet). 

Once again sadness overwhelms without knowing what, exactly, we are sad about. Our plans are all tentative. And yes, they are for all of us, but - no, it's not quite the same. We both rely on God's strength and love. Your friendship and care helps a lot.

Thanks for sharing our story.

Hope for many more First Days

So how does one (or two) live with the threat of a major unwanted life-change hanging inside one's head for a year and a half? It's been 19 months since that first day of the rest of our lives. I haven't been very good at writing about it. It's different for each of us. It's different for our children.

One day last Spring on a cool morning I looked out the kitchen window and saw Michael sitting in our back porch quiet place, one of the several prayer blankets we've been given around his shoulders. He was staring up at the big oak tree between our house and the church next door. It's leaves were fresh and green except for the large bare branch that needed to be cut out. He later told me he and the tree were having a conversation. (Didn't surprise me. On our first date he stopped to talk to a lamp post on a Cairo street. And trees in Dembi Dollo answered him back ... he said.) They had something in common - something dead inside each of them that needed to be cut out. And he talked to God about it, too. It was from that moment that Michael felt the assurance of God's peace about whatever happened. All fear vanished from his mind and heart. He felt the warmth of the blanket around his shoulders as if God had put it there and embraced him. 

I am not nearly so spiritual or romantic as Michael. Way too pragmatic, probably. I have always dealt with each of life's turns navigating each pothole as necessary and looking for the straight-aways before accelerating. With each chemo treatment and each MRI, I paid attention to see what the side-effects and the report was going to be before getting anxious. And each month the MRI reports were good and the chemo was manageable by not planning too much and sleeping a lot for a week or so. I grew up knowing that my life was in God's hands and I just expect it to stay there no matter what happens. Fear has never been a very active part of my emotional make up.

Sadness, though, is something else. The thought of a life-change that involves significant loss makes both of us sad. Never, however, at the same time. We feel it in different ways, at different times, and, of course, about the prospect of different losses. Over the months we have both had days where we just sit and cry even though there's nothing to cry about ... yet. And we wonder about the future.

Last week Michael took his last trial vaccination at the Duke Brain Cancer Center in Durham, NC. And two weeks before that he took the last of his chemo treatments. On March 1st he'll have his "end of treatment" MRI. And we will wait to see how long the treatment will hold. The Physician's Assistant who examined him last week, encouraged us by letting us know that there are those who have survived a couple decades. And we know one person who lived 14 years. 

As we drove back up the mountains from Durham, Michael committed to hanging on to that Hope. With no monthly interruption that will knock him out of commission for several days, we can anticipate and plan to do interesting and fun things on days off. We're even working on planning a vacation! That will have to be done between MRIs, which we anticipate to be scheduled every 6 or 8 weeks; but that's plannable. 

We Hope that each day we have together will be memorable and will be the beginning of many good things. 

It is a great pleasure to have you on this journey with us. Thanks for the prayers and love that you have shown us in so many ways.