Mango Juice and Mosquitoes

It's been hot here in Buffalo. The thermometer has been hovering around 90 degrees for the past few days. I am thankful that our landlord was in to open up a new (beautiful) piano window in our apartment; it provides a lovely cross breeze, and it's quite cute, opening from the top. Anyhow, here I am, off-track already. The point is that this heat has me thinking about lying awake in bed at night in Haiti, listening to the drums in the nearby village, and trying desperately not to think about how hot I was, or how many mosquitoes were flying around my face in the dark. At least I don't have mosquitoes crawling up my nose here in Buffalo. But, as much as I don't remember those hot, sweaty nights with great fondness, I do ache every time I think of that beautiful country, and all the friends I left behind in the villages of Coupon and Roche Blanche. I even dug out one of my favorite photos to share with you. I'm afraid it didn't scan as well as I'd hoped, but if you look closely, you can see a young girl doing her homework outside her home. I took this photo at about 4 p.m., in a village very near my own. I wish that I could share all of the delightful (and some not-so) sights, sounds, and smells of Haiti...everything was so loud...vendors and buyers shouting in the marketplace, the squawks and squeals of animals among the crowds, flashes of bright color--from womens' clothing to the melange of veggies in woven baskets at the market to the bright signs and homes painted horrendous pastel colors...it was constantly an overwhelming sensory experience. I was reading back in my journal from my year spent there, and I often ache for the experience of life there, raw and throbbing. I often feel like my days here are spinning, numbing, sort of a self-indulged dream, where all other objects and persons revolve around my hopes and my needs. There, I couldn't run from Old Navy to coffee dates, buy new mascara, wish I were skinnier, or microwave my dinner. It simply wasn't an option. My days were full of hard, hot work, giving, giving, giving, painfully long conversations, yet another child at my door asking for food/water, homemade music, dancing, making mango juice (so so delicious!), and writing by light of the oil lamp after the sun set. I know I shouldn't idealize it; I remind myself of the loneliness, the frustration of everything breaking, the frustration of being "blanc" (white)...but somehow the fears and frustrations fade with the thought of going back. I can't wait to get back. For all the hot nights, flat tires, mosquitoes, broken cars that take weeks to fix, and dirt covering everything I own, my soul longs to get back. I have to keep reminding myself that each Anatomy and Physiology class is taking me closer and closer to the goal of getting back to that dreadful, gorgeous, throbbing country. James and I love to talk about the possibilities of opening our own mission, getting teams together, raising our children speaking Creole. I know that our whole life won't be there, but I am certainly excited about returning to my village, seeing my dear friends again, forgetting the mascara, rolling up my sleeves, and getting to work.

The Sound of the Fiddle, Reeling and True

Yesterday was delightful. We awoke at 8:00 to a damp breeze blowing in the bedroom window, the leaves dripping with fresh rain. After a ride to school, a successful exam, and an honest day's work for James, we headed home for one of my first evenings off of the week. I snuggled up on our old velvet green couch with a book, At Home in Mitford (a delightful story of the mishaps and adventures of an Episcopalian minister in a small North Carolina town), and read with the rain until I fell asleep. James woke me up at 5:00 p.m. with a delightful surprise...Nickel Creek, a fabulous bluegrass band, was playing downtown in the square at a free concert! We looked out the window at the teeming rain and grimaced at the menacing thunder, but decided to brave the elements with the hope of hearing Sara Watkins (fiddle) and the world's best mandolin player, Chris Thiele. We arrived at the square to a beautiful sight...crowds of ponchos and multi-colored umbrellas, and the sound of a fiddle reeling. We found our way to some soaking wet seats on the side of a statue, and settled in for the show. I was thrilled to hear the opening notes of their first song...The Fox. You can't help but smile when you hear the runs and reels of this song, laughing through the rain. All around us, people clapped and danced as the rain poured down, puddles of music and joy at our feet.

Gray Days

With a sigh of relief, I am happy to say that two years of Gray days have finally paid off! I'm thrilled to see the finished product of those late nights and long hours of editing, re-editing, and generally pouring over Gray's Sermons. This book is a jewel, and I'm thrilled to have been a part of its publication. The content is beautiful: honest gospel sermons which deal frankly with the issues of life, but also showcase God's love in Christ for any and all who believe. If you're interested, contact my friend Steve Renkema at Reformation Heritage Books. He'll set you up! Also, thanks to Amy Zevenbergen for a beautiful cover design. Nice work, gang!

Garden Walk

Sorry, friends. I am a terrible blogger. I wish I had more thrilling things to write about...but it seems that I'm stuck with writing about James, Oliver, and me. My regrets. My life right now is simple. Let's see...James is writing papers, and I am working furiously, trying to do well in my new job in the ER (which I'm loving). Every morning, James and I drive a half-hour to Orchard Park, NY, where I take an Anatomy and Physiology class, and James works in a factory. We are constantly discussing the pros and cons of having only one car, and we've come to the conclusion that it's good, because it makes us dependent on each other. We're still thoroughly enjoying spending the greater part of every day together, which I count a major blessing. I am still taking my prerequisite courses, paying double for tuition, being an out-of-stater (miserable), and enjoying my classes. The plan is for both James and I to apply to graduate school in Buffalo for next year (2008). James will apply to UB for his PhD, and I'll try my darnedest to get into that 12-month Accelerated Nursing Program at UB. We love Buffalo. We're hoping to stay here for a while...turns out we have some great friends just over the border, and we are liking our life here. The architecture in this city is staggering. There are some of the largest, most beautiful homes I've ever seen, just planted all throughout the city. We've got the Frank Lloyd Wright house just around the corner, and other architectural jewels lining the Buffalo streets. And right now, the flowering trees are blooming, the air is cool, and the sky is brilliant blue. The streets are lined with trees, and we're finding out that Buffalonians take impeccable care of their yards and gardens. In fact, James and I are planning to take the much talked-about Garden Walk, where over 260 Buffalo residents open up their personal gardens for the public to tour...if you want in on this, come visit during the last weekend in July! We'd love to have company!

Old Coat

"Wear the old coat and buy the new book." -Austin Phelps

I must say, this is James's and my motto....holes in our socks, but by George, we just found a beautiful old copy of Austin or Wharton at the used bookstore downtown. Anyhow, the purpose of this post is to show off the beautiful new bookshelf that we just received from Mom and Dad Van Wyck as a wedding gift. Hand-crafted in a New Jersey woodshop by a talented craftsman (Dad!), it finally made its way up to Buffalo, where its new home was anxiously awaiting it! Mind you, we did have to turn the place upside-down to find the PERFECT spot for it (just ask Andrea and Jennifer, poor girls; they had to deal with the most particular, yet indecisive couple in the history of time when they helped us move, re-move, and finally fill the bookshelf!) It's made of oak, with a "Colonial American" stain. It holds about half our books, which is a feat, I must say. Thanks, Mom and Dad Van Wyck! We love it! The astute viewers among us will also notice that above the bookshelf hangs a beautiful painting of a Scottish countryside church at sunset, a gift from Mom and Dad Ziegler. The two fit perfectly together. Symbolic of the perfect union of families...on that cheesy note, I'll sign off to recover from my run--I can't stay inside, now that Buffalo is finally thawing out! It was 75 degrees today!