Last week, I had the opportunity to visit a most beloved place. A city that held and meant so much to me for my formative, young adult years. This place beheld my first years as a married woman; my grad school endeavors; and my most immersive ministry experiences in the U.S.

Consequently, this place holds many memories and special relationships.

It is also one of the most beautiful and fascinating places I know.

I had not been back to Philly for over 8 years. The intervening years held my most significant life changes to date. Ted and I lived and served in Haiti in these years. We also became parents and reacclimated to life on the West Coast. These recent years have been intense in ways that our grad school and ministry days in Philly were not - strange as that may sound.

Tragedy and growth and new experiences have marked this time.

Which is why revisiting Philly felt a bit like going back in time, and a bit like visiting an alternate reality - a place I knew so well, yet the finer memories of which had grown dusty and muddled with disuse. I couldn't remember what the airport looked like, or how Henry Ave connects with Walnut Lane. All of the pieces fell back into place as we drove the streets of Mt Airy and Chestnut Hill, and as I took in the sounds, smells and textures of a place that I once knew so well.

I got to reconnect with two dear, wonderful friends - I am lucky to know women of such caliber. I got to laugh, hike, soak my feet in Wissahickon Creek, and taste the city's delicacies. I spent a day meandering through the Art Museum and strolling along the Ben Franklin Parkway in sunny, crisp weather; collecting memories and treats to take home for my loved ones. All my senses were satiated, and I came home filled with gratitude and appreciation for this place that  shaped me for over six years.

I read recently in this great book, Stability, how places take on meaning because of the experiences we  share there. It was very appropriate to read this on my way to Philly, and to recognize the truth of it, as I delighted in reacquainting myself with this beautiful place.

A great way to ring in my 41st year! :)

Worship

A field of flowers 

resplendent in pinks and golds 

curled back their petals 

Opened them wide to embrace 

Sunlight 

Faces turned upward

they basked in the Sun’s glory

in a posture of worship 

modeling our destiny

Decisions

Decisions can be hard for me. Big ones, and not-so-big ones. It ebbs and flows. At some point in my 20s-and-30s journey, I learned that not  making decisions (on say, vocation, work, how to spend/not spend my time) is a decision in itself. Waiting at a part-time job that was meant as a placeholder until the "better thing" came around is a decision. In other words, putting off the big decisions until the moment feels right - that is active decision-making

This gets complicated. Listening for God and praying for discernment are important practices of our Christian faith. Pausing to consider before taking action is generally regarded as a mark of maturity, wisdom even. But, in some of my own, extended pauses of indecision and waiting, a quiet fear or perfectionism burrows. 

We can be afraid of making the wrong decision. Of jumping the gun; "missing" God's plan for us. When this happens, our view of God's "plan" may be too narrow. I know that I was raised in this Western, modern time where the emphasis is placed on the individual and what the individual will accomplish to make their mark on the world. This seeps into our Christianity, where verses like Jer 29:11, "For I know the plans I have for you..." are taken to mean that God has a particular, special path for each of us. Instead of focusing on the general things we know God desires for all of us - to grow in trust and love for Him; to exhibit the fruit of the spirit; love our neighbors; care for the poor in our midst - we can hyperfocus on the many decisions we face as 20 and 30-somethings. Decisions about career, location, church. Of course these decisions matter; but they are not the be-all-end-all. 

Loving God is the be all end all.

Anyone with some history of anxiety - like me - can take the messages from youth and college conferences  that are surely meant well, and turn them into a high-stakes game.  "You are special; designed for a unique purpose; discover God's plan for you; don't waste your life !" feels like Crap! I better get this right! The stakes feel very high - too high.

But we know this hyper focus on the individual is a modern thing. Our over-concern with our own life and plans can draw us away from the bigger picture and the overarching call of Christ.  Love God, love others. There is nothing simple about this call, but it's a beautiful journey, meant to be lived into with others.

Decisions aren't always hard for me, and I'm thankful for that. I have friends and a husband, and the grace of God that helps me to find rest in God's sovereignty from time to time, pulling me away from an overly self-focused stance to one of actual worship and praise - putting the attention where it is due.

Praise God.

August Rush

Freddie Highmore as Evan Taylor/August Rush (photo source: imdb.com)

There aren't many movies I choose to go back to. But if a film has captured some part of my heart or imagination, or sparked some artistic inspiration in me, I will eventually revisit it. Even then, my list of go-to "feel good" movies are short, and they are usually in the comedy realm (who has time to revisit emotionally-laden dramas or suspense films over and again? Well, I don't!) My short list includes: About a Boy, Slumdog Millionaire, Bend it Like Beckham. And I may only rewatch these every few years.

Which is why it's not surprising that it's taken me over 10 years to rewatch August Rush. I saw it when it first released in 2006, and then Ted claims we have watched it sometime during the course of our relationship, so my total view count is now at "3.") 

I knew that I liked something about this movie. Was it mainly the music? The love story? Or was there something remarkable about the acting? It was hard for me to remember. And there was a good chance my sensibilities as recent college graduate may not be in sync with my now, almost-40 year old self.

While rewatching August Rush this past week, the opening scenes gave me the impression that the movie did not age well with me. If the love story was to be the glue that held this film together, it felt hollow.  The acting was fine, but not remarkable (however, the more I consider Freddie Highmore's performance, the more it impresses me. And one can't knock Robin Williams, ever).

But as the plot picked up pace, and the movie came to its crescendo and triumphant ending, I was engaged in familiar ways with the story as a whole. How did this happen?

I reflected afterward that this movie has a unique element that carries it to such a rewarding end - the music. The music really tells the story in August Rush. It takes center stage, far and above the cast of supporting actors. The pleasing soundtrack carries us from August's foster care facility, to the streets of New York, and into his parents' loving presence. 

The music tells the story, and August is the conductor. From the opening scene, he is conducting the music he "hears" in an wind-whipped, open field; and he continues doing so, bringing about all the main action of the film. He "conducts" his ultimate reunion with his parents, and their reunion with each other.

Like the different players in an orchestra, there are no stand-out players in this film (apart from August, our lead). Yet when they play together, they do create the symphony, or in this case, August's final rhapsody that he unveils in Central Park.

My husband pointed out some other, notable aspects of the film. The title is very Dickensian (think Oliver Twist), as is our protagonist. August is a down-and-out "orphan," lost on the streets of a big city.  He navigates urban blight; suffers exploitation at the hands of his "Fagin;" and is victim to a broken child welfare system.

August and his captor, "Wizard" (photo source: imdb.com)

Don't some of the best works of art carry echoes of larger, more profound works of art? Ones that have, like Dickens' works, "stood the test of time" and speak to higher truths and our deepest cares as humans. I am not putting this film up there with the "best works of art," but this film is memorable for me, almost in spite of itself (the gushing sentimentality would cause endless eye-rolling for some!) 

God is even woven into this story. We meet the minister and his angelic, youthful parishioner toward the end of the film. When August is in his most critical moment, back in "Fagin's" clutches and yet so close to his appointment with destiny, the minister hints to God being the chief Conductor who will help August navigate away from harm and find his way. The minister asks the little girl "did you pray for him?" She nods. He replies, "Ok. Then I'm sure he will be fine." August's Father (in Heaven) is ultimately the one orchestrating August's return "home."

I may wait another 15 years before watching this one. But the music, the main storyteller of this film, will stay with me for awhile.

The Ocean

I love the ocean. Its vastness. The rhythmic crashing of its waves. 

I've passed many blissful moments of my life "lost" in its near-euphoric beauty.

Growing up near the Pacific Ocean, I had easy access to its southern Californian beaches and temperate waters. Sand play and sunscreen filled my childhood. And as a young adult, I could drag my lucky self there most any time I pleased. My most memorable youth group bonfires, baptisms, and deep, intellectual conversations with friends - and sunburns - are tied to specific beaches along the North County San Diego shoreline.

It's a beautiful thing how lying belly-down on the warm sand for an hour in between dips in the ocean is considered a completely acceptable use of time. One could even call it "productive" if working on one's tan. :)

Meandering conversations with friends could lull into meditative snoozes without notice. What a perfect activity for moody, introverted teenagers everywhere! 

My sister and I walking the North County San Diego shoreline

I missed the warmth of San Diego beaches while living in the Mid-Atlantic for 6 years; which is one reason our move to Haiti delighted us so much with its seemingly endless coastal treasures.  

Yet it took some "work" to unearth these salt water treasures.  

The traffic and noise often felt claustrophobic in Port-au-Prince, where we lived. On a handful of memorable occasions, we escaped the city for a day at the beach; or, better yet, a well-planned overnight vacation. The reward for putting up with the grinding traffic on the outskirts of the city was the cool breeze and the pale blue, lapping waters of the Caribbean that greeted us at the other end of our journey. Reclining, dazed, on the beach was pure heaven.  One could breathe deeply here without choking on exhaust fumes or the scent of burning trash. The fresh fish and lobster weren't bad either :)

One of my many special memories from Haiti's beaches took place on Bon Bon beach, way out near the island's westernmost city of Jeremie. I was buried in my latest historical read - the Black Count- which follows the life of a French Revolution general and father to the famous author Alexander Dumas. At that moment in my reading, I discovered that Dumas Senior passed much of his childhood in the town bordering this very same beach. The history nerd in me got a faint "period rush," as the past collided with my present on that pristine, sandy shore. 

The ocean has offered more than beauty and special memories to me; it offers me a place of refuge - a space of rest and care for my soul.

The sound of crashing waves alone is enough to "carry" me to this place of rest. My final anecdote speaks to some of the craziness of 2020 for us all, so I'll close with it here:

Lily was born 4 months into the shelter-in-place. The trip to the hospital felt like a pseudo-"staycation," in a twisted, pandemic-kind-of-way. After her birth, Ted and I were "treated" to 24 hours in post-partum care, where we were largely left alone because of COVID restrictions on visitations. The medical staff also "clustered" their entrances into our room to reduce spread of germs. The "treat" was that we actually had chances to snooze with our day-old baby. And the hospital's white noise machine had an "ocean waves" setting that provided the soundtrack for our stay. Holding my new baby in relative quiet, she and I could both dip in and out of slumber to the sound of the crashing waves.

Compared to the harry and stress of labor - and the general stress of 2020 -  this time stands out to me as 24-hours of  post-partum bliss. :)

Lily's newborn slumber

A Haiku

I was locked into an unexpected 2nd period prep yesterday - given one hour without anything to do and without my Kindle - so I decided to write a haiku. I was sitting in one of my favorite classes to sub for - a French class. Here we go:

A French classroom

Gold glitter projects
splash the walls. Paris! Venez!
Global dreams take shape.

Fin :)

Port Townsend

On my retreat, I am walking wooden piers and watching the seagulls glide. I am easing into talks with a friend that dip smoothly from tangential to deep. I am surrounded by a world of water that is cool, rhythmic, deep. 

Grey mist lifts to reveal a sun-kissed landscape around me. Snowy mountains encircle us but remain enshrouded in cloud – silent and invisible guardians of our space.

On my retreat, I am at home in rooms painted warm hues of yellow and orange. The walls are splashed with family photos that recall memories of laughter and joy. The world is brought near by homegrown artwork that evokes journeys we have shared. 

On my retreat, I eat. 

The garden is alive, even if in a wintry “in between.” It gives me my first taste of mustard greens, and it enthralls me with the life that always beats beneath the surface. I am fed – Moroccan delights, spiced eggs, fresh salmon - and my own scraps feed the chickens, who then feed the earth. 

Twinkle lights, laughter. Freshly baked cookies. Painting at the kitchen table. Endless cubbies of tea. The hot water kettle delivers in an instant. We enjoy cozy couch sites. Together.

Here to greet me and care for me, on my retreat: a doctor, caregiver, storyteller, friend, a bank of knowledge and humor - many people wrapped up in two kind hosts.

My retreat- a gift given and gladly received. 

Solace

Salmon-spawning area of the American River at Effie Yeaw. Taken: 10/18/22

This has been a place of solace for me over the past two years. Here it is, at "magic hour," though the magic hours at Effie Yeaw Nature Preserve are easier to find than at other places, and they are not confined to the traditional parts of the day. 

The magic begins for me as I first step onto the park's dusty paths. There is a stillness that pervades this place; it envelopes me. I am in a new dimension; the noise and chatter of my everyday life left behind. 

New sounds emerge from the trees and the blue sky. They greet me and bear a message of Life that my soul didn't know it needed. The chirping birds; the rustling breeze... 

Walking further on, I open myself to discern their meaning.

In this space, nature unfurls its beauty and manifests its complexity for those who are ready to study and see. I am a patron of the arts, meandering the latest exhibit of natural wonders on display around me. In observing the whirls of a retired tree stump or the algae-shrouded pond, it's easy to see how Life pulses through this place. It's in the soil, the foraging wildlife.

All my senses are soon alert to the reality proclaimed by this place - the message it bears: God is alive! Not only alive, but knowable, personal. He is manifest in the details of each element's design, and He Himself breathes life into everything I see. 

My path ends and the sky opens up on a view of the river. I am alone, gazing at the water's reflective surface. The birds' song and the rustling leaves once again encircle me, and my Creator speaks an even more intimate message to my heart:

"Consider the birds of the air. Consider the lilies - all that you see around you. See how I take care of them. Yet you are even dearer to me than they. Therefore, I will take care of you."

Held by His words, I journey home. Though I leave the stillness and "magic" of this place behind, the message it bears goes with me.

March six | 3.6

I thought I would set myself a challenge: select a photo seemingly at "random," and create a post about it. Today being March 6th - 3/6 - I decided to head into the third folder of my Pictures album on my hard drive and select the 6th photo in it. (Thank you, sticky Facebook posts, for this inspiration from awhile back.)

Here it is:

My mom is known for being festive. She puts on a party with flare, and the table settings take center stage. My sister and I receive text messages from my Mom on occasion, filled with stunning photos of her latest centerpieces and themed decor for a party thrown for friends or the latest holiday celebration.

This setting was for an occasion very special to me personally: my baby shower. February 2017. Mom went all out, planning for weeks so that her many friends, and a few of my local friends, would have the chance to bless the socks off Ted and me and our growing family. The back patio was filled with gifts for our little one. The white board in the hallway replete with name suggestions for the yet-to-be-born munchkin. And the tables were set with precision, color, and care.

Mom had at least four tables decked with bursts of blues and sweet polka dot and chevron patterns. Tasty cakes and berries mounted peoples' plates, and dozens of friends chattered and shared their advice and well wishes for my forthcoming foray into motherhood. I reconnected with many family friends that day, in a way that was akin to my wedding reception 7 years earlier.

A fun-filled day; a truly festive occasion. And it all started with a picturesque table setting. (Photo credits: Erica Oswald.)

So that you can see some more fun from that day:

Stems

I am not one to keep many plants alive at once, so I appreciate these accents of flora in our home all the more!

These have proven pretty hard to kill, mercifully. I love house plants. :) 

Puddles

Behold! A boy on the brink of some epic puddle splashing. 

He's got his boots on; he is ready. 

(Effie Yeaw Nature Center, 2019.)

A few of my favorite things

I found this list I began over a year ago of some of my recent "favorites" (t.v. shows, books, activities.) I updated it and thought I would share it now:

The Renovaré podcast with Nathan Foster

The Enneagram. (Reading Cron and Stabile's book now, The Road Back to You; enjoyed Jen Hatmaker's interview with Ian Cron, too)

Parks & Rec (we skimmed Season 1 and then got into Season 2)

The Bodyguard (British thriller miniseries, available on Netflix)

American History Teller's "Cold War" podcast series

Ushpizin movie (try your local library; description here.)

TheBibleProject.com video series and Bible study tools

On Being podcast interview with Eugene Peterson, "The Bible, Poetry, and Active Imagination"

Abstract series produced by Netflix (Episodes 1 & 2 are highlights.)

James leaning in for butterfly kisses ;)

Fresh Thanks

An orange tree in the yard is something beautiful to share. I often forget about the row of citrus trees that line the walkway to our backyard - orange, mandarin, grapefruit. They are hidden by a gate, and in the rainy months our muddy yard sees fewer visits from me and my watering can. In the coolness of these winter months, fresh fruit is often the farthest thing from my mind. Yet, behold! My yard contains sweet gifts: trees laden with ripe citrus.

I served some up for a guest yesterday.

Our citrus trees are one of the first things that caught my eye when we moved into our rental in Carmichael two years ago. They reminded me of our home in Haiti that was situated in a compound well-populated by tropical delights: soursop, breadfruit, limes, grapes, and coconuts. The bursts of flavor that accented our life in the Caribbean, matched with the bright colors that dotted the landscapes, clothing and art, are among the chief aspects I miss about life in Haiti.

When I encountered the fruit trees in our new home, it felt like receiving a warm smile and embrace from God. He was saying, "this is your home now." He had delivered us from the doorstep of one beloved dwelling to a new home where we could welcome and begin to raise our son.

All of this - from citrus!

On having fun

Lately I've noticed that my activities with James comprise a new element - he's been playing and interacting, goofing around in such a way that it's just fun to watch him have fun.

I can say now, "James, we're going to the park!" and see something click in his head. Going for his shoes, he knows he's in for a good time. Once he sees the playground, another light goes on in his little head. It's play time!

He's playing much more with "big kid" equipment. Climbing the steps in the tots play area, and going down the tiny slide. But it's all still completely novel, and he approaches it all with some awe and reticence.

He's also just a goofball. He likes to stand and stomp his feet in place, doing a little dance. When he sees something he's really excited about - a truck, or another kid maybe - he babbles some gibberish in an authoritative squawk and points to the sky with his right arm thrust up in the air, and keeps it there while walking toward the object of interest. He also prances around the kitchen now with his hands clasped behind his back, or just one tucked behind there - our little Napoleon.

It's a whole new thing to watch him having fun like this, and our activities are much more geared toward getting him out and letting him explore. No longer content with the limited movement the indoors' provide, he's a boy on the move. And, I suspect, the adventuring will only continue, reaching heights for which I'm not ready!

James "chasing birds" at the school field.

Nostalgia

Two weeks ago, Ted and I had the chance to "walk down memory lane" together. Actually, it's more like we ran laps around it!

The location for this nostalgic jog: Elk Grove Park, just about 35 minutes from Carmichael. The occasion: 105.3's free mega pet event Pet-a-Palooza.

Wait a second, you're rightly wondering. What does a pet event in Elk Grove have to do with YOU, Katharine Oswald?

On the surface, nothing. Except that the final flourish on Pet-a-Palooza's day-long event was a (free) concert by HANSON. Yep, as in the Hanson brothers, from Tulsa, OK: Isaac, Taylor, Zac. The three males that took up oodles of my time and creative energy in junior and high school :)

Sixteen years after ripping their posters off my bedroom wall, I got to revisit Hanson's music at an outdoor concert with my One and Only.  He good-naturedly went along, and we turned this into a outing that involved some special Oswald nostalgia to top it off.

First - Hanson. My obsession with the Tulsa trio lasted way too long and was infamous among close family and friends. I don't recall now how many times I saw them in concert (again, 16 years have passed), nor how many times I met them in person. (You could say I stalked them... if visiting their hometown and chasing them around L.A. counts as stalking...), but my immersion in the world of Hanson fandom was complete. I was a high school student by day, and a Hanson junkie by night (I built and curated my own Hanson fan website - 'nuff said :)

This is where the title of the post should be changed to "Confessions of a Former Hanson Fanatic." But, we'll save some of those soppy and hysterical details for another time. Suffice it to say, I had all their music memorized; I knew their birthdays by heart; their favorite colors, songs, etc. I loved them from Mmmbop (13 for me) till wedding bells chimed for their lead singer, Taylor (18), so it's no wonder that their music and personalities played a big role in my teenage "upbringing." It's also no wonder I needed a 16-year break to get "sober!"

But our afternoon in Elk Grove Park was a fun one. The music they write continues to be fun. It's got a lot more funk mixed in with the pop/rock. I told Ted that probably the biggest reason Hanson isn't considered "cool" is because they don't appear grungy, unhappy, or addicted to drugs. (That, and that they looked and sounded like girls when their first songs flew to the top of the charts worldwide. That's a hard image to shake.)

The park holds other memories near and dear to me. It's in this park, nearly 9 years ago, that Ted and I had our Faux Wedding celebration. Orchestrated by mother-in-law Lee Ann, it was a hilarious affair complete with washer wedding rings and a golden retriever "ring bearer." I wore a thrift store "wedding dress," and it was all just absolutely goofy.

More important to Ted's childhood is the location of the park. He ran through Elk Grove park as a teen, and his childhood home is just a mile or so away. Elk Grove Jr. High and High School, where he attended, are just across the street. We don't often get to visit this place as a a couple. But each time we have, it's been full of sweet and wacky reminiscences. 

A post-concert "selfie" at Elk Grove Park.

Our sweet boy

Well it's hard to believe; he's here! And he's changed our world completely. James Oswald was born May 1, 2017 at 12:59 a.m.

James Benedict Oswald, weighed 7 lbs 10 oz at birth, 21 inches long

Yesterday he turned 10 weeks old, and we commemorated this with an early photo shoot by Ted's brother P.J. who owns his own photography business.

Our sweet boy, who has gone by the epithet "Sweet Baby James" (from James Taylor's famous song) since birth, is smiling and changing a little all the time. It's amazing that the wild news we learned on a Friday night in Haiti 11 months ago has now been realized in the form of this beautiful guy.

Meet James!

(All photos by P.J. Oswald of Fits and Stops Photography)

Valentine

Happy Valentine's. Whether you have a partner to smooch, good friends to party with, or chocolates to indulge in, I sense God encouraging me to take stock of this past year and to be thankful for all the incredible, sweet moments He has offered us.

With love,

the Oswalds

(photo: Wedding Day, Aug. 15. 2009)

Walking through

I have been in transition for some time now. It started last September, when Ted and I found out we were pregnant, and I left Haiti less than two weeks later - saying au revoir to friends and co-workers for an indeterminate amount of time.

Yet we did know that our timeline was changing. Fast. I arrived in San Diego a bit in shock, running on the adrenaline of the very quick, very "adult"  decisions we had made in less than a week's time - a record for us. Since seeing our little one's ultrasound and hearing his heartbeat the Wednesday prior, we had decided that I would leave the country, and we would both end our term with MCC on December 23rd. It seemed like the wise, prudent thing to do since we knew we desired to have our baby and set up shop in the U.S. for this next "chapter."

And now we had three months ahead with us mostly being apart. Ted "held down the fort" with our work in Haiti. He enjoyed Sundays with our church community, read a lot, dove into new exploits like bread baking and crepe making. And I was thrust into the throes of  'transition' - sort of getting a grip on this whole 'culture shock' and 'values shock' thing as we awaited our ultimate reunion in late December.

The interim period held a lot of gems. (I will share about one of them soon here.) But my stress about the uncertainty of the future was like the ringmaster calling the shots on my activities in my day-to-day life.

Fast forward to today - February 13 - nearly 6 months later. I am in a very different place, emotionally, and I am starting to come to a new, less frantic look on our reality. Ted and I are together. He is now 7 weeks back from Haiti, and I know he is going through transitions of his own.

So 6 months of transition, and counting. You might say, so what? People have surely been through much longer times of uncertainty and even unemployment. Yet all the while I have this baby growing in me, inching along to a due date in late April. We have a new reality coming, and he's coming, ready or not! While we are thrilled, this adds a layer of stress to my day-to-day that makes the waiting, the uncertainty, very hard to maneuver.

Yet my solace comes in knowing that things will work out somehow. We may not know yet where our next steps will be - the job, the home - but we haven't been cast aside or overlooked by our Father.

Seeking Him.

Haiti in August (I may have been pregnant then without
realizing it.)

San Diego County (Cardiff), near where we are currently based.

Poetry: from the journal

I found this written in my journal about a year ago, after we had returned to Haiti for the start of the new year:

Bleach water in my hair,

sounds of roosters

hot, sticky.

That feeling of being on the frontier,

but in a cool, ceramic tile oasis

It is morning #1: back in Haiti.

And this, from my journal close to two years ago. Ted had encouraged me to be bold and to try to write down some poetry. I reflected on experiences with a neighborhood boy:

Instead of hope,

money.

Instead of a smile, or kinship

a "solution" offered.

I can't talk; I can't give you more.

Who am I? And what are we?

I guess, we are actually the same.

Tied by a line.

You are my brother; that is all.

We are family.

Kinship, explored.

Expounded.

Brought forth

into it's actual meaning.

So this is who we are, who I am.

Live, therefore.

Offer the smile,

Be brave.

Live in the light - whole,

not afraid.

When I first met Tanis, he asked me for a bike. Then he asked me to buy him a ball, a new phone, pay his school fees. I couldn't meet all of his needs, nor did I feel it was my place to do so. But he came by ever so often - knocked on the gate. And we would chat in the driveway. I know he has it rough. And I often struggled with what to do - what could I offer him? Besides a peanut butter sandwich, and some time? The question didn't always have to be as complicated as I made it to be. I think that simply chatting with him at times was the answer.

So, he came by and we would 'shoot the breeze.' The one neighbor we actually chatted with regularly over our first several months in Haiti.

From Nairobi to Haiti and Back

A reflection of mine from a few weeks back:

I feel very full at the moment, thinking how life has woven moments into memorable patterns over my adult life. About eight and a half years ago, I spent two formative months in Nairobi. (I know, “formative” is the label you put on something that you don’t know how to adequately describe; it communicates “it was complicated, but meant something beautiful.”) I spent a lot of this time on my own or in the company of a friend, Lisa's, dear daughter and her nanny. I traveled the city by matatu and walked for much of my daily commute. Lisa connected me with friends and ministries that I explored on my own over a two-month period. It was a time of introspection and processing for me.

View reflected in a mirror from our lodgings in Jacmel, Haiti (photo: Anna Vogt)

Ted and I have now lived in Haiti for two years, working with Mennonite Central Committee. In May, Ted and I spent two days in the beautiful seaside town of Jacmel, in Haiti’s south. We traveled there with two visiting MCC colleagues who wanted to explore more of Haitian geography after a full work week. We stayed at a charming bed and breakfast that we had heard about many times in the past 6 months from a friend in Port-au-Prince.

The bed and breakfast turned out to be more lovely than we could have imagined. Janet, the owner, put so much thought into the design and aesthetic of the space. She is also a wonderful chef, and presented us with a delicious breakfast spread both mornings.

Janet used to work with MCC in present day South Sudan. She also raised her kids in Haiti. Most recently, she worked with Save the Children in Sub-Saharan Africa. When I learned this, several things clicked at once. My good friend Lisa who hosted me in Nairobi also worked with Save the Children. I asked Janet, and it turns out she and Lisa are dear friends. I couldn’t believe it! Standing in Janet’s kitchen in a small town in southern Haiti, we make a connection that weaves together some very significant moments in my life.

With Janet at her beautiful Jacmel home and B&B

Back to today: I got an e-mail this morning from a colleague who heads an international organization here in Port-au-Prince; she is a friend who has collaborated with us on some significant projects since the start of our term with MCC. Apparently, she is in Nairobi at the moment, and she informed me via this e-mail that she “spent the morning walking through a forest in Nairobi” with Kristen and Wawa Chege.

Kristen and Wawa are the couple that held the advocacy position in Haiti before Ted and I started with MCC. They led our orientation in July 2014 when we were preparing to “take over” their roles. Wawa is Kenyan and they have lived in Nairobi with their two children since they left Haiti two years ago. I may be wrong, but if my hunch is right, our colleague would have been walking with them through the very arboretum that I frequented during my time in Nairobi, which is where Ted and I are pictured below:

My and Ted's reunion in Nairobi, after about 6 months apart
(December 2007)

So, through these few recent encounters we have traveled from Haiti to Nairobi and back again. Beautiful connections that wrap these parts of my life and the world together.

Mèsi.