“You are quite the multi-tasker!” is a comment that I have heard recently on distinct and separate occasions, various times (always said with a raised eyebrow, a sideways grin and a quick chuckle).
The usual repenting reply is, “Yeah, they say I might actually get more done if I focused on one thing at a time.” as I grimace and then sheepishly smile.
Here is my theory: things that can be done without thinking can be combined with some thing that requires thought – as long as the two tasks do not demand the usage of the same body parts. So I usually do look for ways to combine tasks.
Yet there are tasks that I choose not to combine with anything else because I really do value quality. Some of them are: communing, writing, proofing, teaching, good reading, and good listening.
Because so many have noticed that I multi-task I am paying more attention to when I do it. I am in that evaluation stage now to see if it is something that I need to stop doing so as to increase effectiveness. Or is it something that I can keep on doing to my hearts content.
Tuesday, June 12
Saturday, June 9
Psalm 121
The LORD the Keeper of Israel.A Song of Ascents.
1. I will lift up my eyes to the mountains; From where shall my help come?
2. My help comes from the LORD, Who made heaven and earth.
3. He will not allow your foot to slip; He who keeps you will not slumber.
4. Behold, He who keeps Israel Will neither slumber nor sleep.
5. The LORD is your keeper; The LORD is your shade on your right hand.
6. The sun will not smite you by day, Nor the moon by night.
7. The LORD will protect you from all evil; He will keep your soul.
8. The LORD will guard your going out and your coming in From this time forth and forever.
Climbing the stairs to the Cristo this morning with Marisol was awesome! The verses above were in my head. We started the climb at 7:15 and we were at the top by 7:50 (15 minutes faster than last week). I know the picture quality isn't that great - maybe I'll get a better shot next week - but you can see that it is getting cold. Last week we didn't take anything for our heads and our ears were aching the whole climb. I was so glad I had my Chief's hat this time. I really love Saturday mornings!
Tuesday, June 5
The Smell
“The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it.”
Rudyard Kipling
That is so true!
Upon returning to Bolivia after 6 weeks in the States we have been experiencing culture shock. There is no better way to explain it. In fact we were going through a form of culture shock when we were in the States. My kiddos are 9, 7, 5 and 8 months. Five and a half years (straight through) of our lives have been lived in Bolivia. We took one trip back to the States for about a month with all the kids over two years ago. And this spring we were in the States for about a month.
My kids are bi-lingual (Spanish and English). It is so easy for them to flip the switch and speak either language like a native. The Bolivians say that our kids have no accent at all. When you hear them speak English they have no accent at all either. This is the true definition of bi-lingual. My husband and I are English speakers who have learned Spanish. We have an accent when we speak Spanish.
So, I am thinking about the culture. Are my children bi-cultural? I would say that they are. They are exposed to the Bolivian culture on a daily basis. It is unavoidable that they would not adopt this culture due to the choice we have made to live where the people live, rather than on a mission base per se. So Bolivia is one culture that they do know. The second culture that they know is that of a Washington kid, not necessarily of an American. You would assume that the second culture I would mention would be American. But it isn’t. Granted, some of the aspects of the culture of the Washington house overlap with a general American culture. But they live in a way so distinct from those in the United States that their only tie to that great nation is their passport and whatever bit they glean from the fact that their parents are both Americans. It has been intriguing to watch my kids interact with the American culture.
On one of the plane rides back to Bolivia my 7 year old son struck up a conversation with a business man. He said, “Hi! I’m Timothy. We’re the Washington kids and we’re missionaries in Bolivia. What’s your name?” The gentleman grinned and said his name was, “Greg.” Timothy chatted with him during the ride. Then during our layover in Chicago we were hanging out at a terminal munching on a snack. All of a sudden my 5 year old points and says, “Hey, there is Timothy’s friend Greg!”
Some may argue that the American culture is diverse in its very definition. That there is such a wide range and so many intricate details in the culture of the United States it is hard to put your finger on just what it means to be an American. While I can understand (and to a degree agree with) that point of view I would still say that much of what my kids experienced in the States was foreign to them. Because they are so accustomed to managing two languages and two cultures (that of Bolivia and that of our home) they were able to successfully immerse themselves into life in the States. But essentially their experience could be compared to that of someone from United States visiting Australia for an extended vacation. Some things are similar – but the culture is distinct and separate.
We are not your typical anything. We are missionaries. We home school. We are a mixed race family (black and white). We are citizens of the United States. We are residents of Bolivia. What a richly diverse upbringing my kids are getting.
As my children are making observations about the differences between the United States and Bolivia they often ask the question, “Why is it this way?” Thinking I could just get off easy I say, “That is the culture.” Well, you know what the next question is, “What is culture?” How do you explain culture to a child?
Rudyard Kipling
That is so true!
Upon returning to Bolivia after 6 weeks in the States we have been experiencing culture shock. There is no better way to explain it. In fact we were going through a form of culture shock when we were in the States. My kiddos are 9, 7, 5 and 8 months. Five and a half years (straight through) of our lives have been lived in Bolivia. We took one trip back to the States for about a month with all the kids over two years ago. And this spring we were in the States for about a month.
My kids are bi-lingual (Spanish and English). It is so easy for them to flip the switch and speak either language like a native. The Bolivians say that our kids have no accent at all. When you hear them speak English they have no accent at all either. This is the true definition of bi-lingual. My husband and I are English speakers who have learned Spanish. We have an accent when we speak Spanish.
So, I am thinking about the culture. Are my children bi-cultural? I would say that they are. They are exposed to the Bolivian culture on a daily basis. It is unavoidable that they would not adopt this culture due to the choice we have made to live where the people live, rather than on a mission base per se. So Bolivia is one culture that they do know. The second culture that they know is that of a Washington kid, not necessarily of an American. You would assume that the second culture I would mention would be American. But it isn’t. Granted, some of the aspects of the culture of the Washington house overlap with a general American culture. But they live in a way so distinct from those in the United States that their only tie to that great nation is their passport and whatever bit they glean from the fact that their parents are both Americans. It has been intriguing to watch my kids interact with the American culture.
On one of the plane rides back to Bolivia my 7 year old son struck up a conversation with a business man. He said, “Hi! I’m Timothy. We’re the Washington kids and we’re missionaries in Bolivia. What’s your name?” The gentleman grinned and said his name was, “Greg.” Timothy chatted with him during the ride. Then during our layover in Chicago we were hanging out at a terminal munching on a snack. All of a sudden my 5 year old points and says, “Hey, there is Timothy’s friend Greg!”
Some may argue that the American culture is diverse in its very definition. That there is such a wide range and so many intricate details in the culture of the United States it is hard to put your finger on just what it means to be an American. While I can understand (and to a degree agree with) that point of view I would still say that much of what my kids experienced in the States was foreign to them. Because they are so accustomed to managing two languages and two cultures (that of Bolivia and that of our home) they were able to successfully immerse themselves into life in the States. But essentially their experience could be compared to that of someone from United States visiting Australia for an extended vacation. Some things are similar – but the culture is distinct and separate.
We are not your typical anything. We are missionaries. We home school. We are a mixed race family (black and white). We are citizens of the United States. We are residents of Bolivia. What a richly diverse upbringing my kids are getting.
As my children are making observations about the differences between the United States and Bolivia they often ask the question, “Why is it this way?” Thinking I could just get off easy I say, “That is the culture.” Well, you know what the next question is, “What is culture?” How do you explain culture to a child?
… what would you say?
Thursday, May 24
Mother
The hustle and bustle of getting all the little cousins ready to go to brunch on mother’s day was hushed by the matron who entered holding a faded piece of paper. The endearing way she gazed on the page held close with both hands made everyone in the room be still. Seizing the opportunity to escape the older of the wee ones scurried off to continue their fantasy play of pirates and fairies leaving the adults to their grown up musing. And musing we were. What could be so precious about this paper? We didn’t have to question long for the lady took her seat and began to explain.
“This poem was written by Mom,” she looked over at her sister and smiled. Her lips were pressed together showing fond remembrance mixed with bitter regret at the loss of their dear mother not so many years ago. How she wished that she could have her still by her side to read the words that she had personally penned so lovingly. Oh, to be able to hear her voice speak out the simple ode.
In her stead, my own mother began to read the poem that my grandmother wrote. There came a moment when she tried to have someone else finish reading, not able to go on because her eyes were blurred by tears. Recovering, she read the rest broken and shaky.
Upon finishing we dried our tears. Did anyone know when she had written this? How is it that you found it? Why had we never heard it before today? None of these questions found answers. Perhaps a bit sacrilegiously my aunt asked her sister to make a photocopy as I told them I was going to post it on my blog so that the whole family could see. My mother was now the mother of three mothers and I was saddened that only I had been present for the reading, alongside just one of my aunts. Wouldn’t all the other sons, daughters, aunts, uncles and cousins like to see it?
Being an egocentric pre-pubescent when my grandma passed away the memories that
I have of this special woman are few yet fond. While my youth did not afford me the wisdom to value our encounters my station now in life draws me to close my eyes and remember the details of the time I spent with the mother of my mother. After hearing this poem I can understand how selflessness was formed in my mom so that in my rearing I also received a giving and unselfish heart.
That plain piece of paper with a bunch of words on it has changed into a treasure. Then again, maybe it was not the paper that changed at all; rather it was I who changed. These words hung framed on the wall of the hall in our house during our formative years. I had never taken much notice of them. Now they will occupy a space on my own wall.
“Reflections on Motherhood”
a poem by
Laura Kavan
As a day honoring Mothers fast approaches,
I, as a mother, am thinking and thinking.
This whole celebration is quite out of order.
So little of the credit belongs to me
Who just happens to be a mother.
As I sit and write, great humility fills my soul.
To think that so much honor and praise
Can go with the most wonderful thing in the world
The honor of being a mother.
A feat I could never win alone
Yet on this day, the honor is mine.
But the trophy is so great, I guess I’ll just accept
Then try in this small way
To make you all, who I love so dear
Understand just how much you mean to me.
For without you, a mother I would never be.
Mother and Gram and Gramp or whatever you’re so fondly called
Your part in my fame is supreme
For without your love and teaching and help along the way
A wife and mother I could never be.
Les, ‘Daddy’, ‘Dear’, ‘Honey’ or whatever else I may call you
My love for you must tell you all the things in my heart
Because feelings so deep, words cannot express
But your contribution to my great day
Is ever increasing as each year passes
Til now, you must share this honor with me
For apart from you, this wonderful person, a mother I could never be.
And to you dear children –
Joyce, Jerry, Jill and Kristy
I’m so proud to be your mother
Tis honor enough to share the happiness you produce
Without a special date to honor someone so humble as your mother.
Now as my thoughts begin to ebb.
I must praise and honor you, dear God
For this wonderful way of life
And ask you to help me be, a Mother
As understanding as Thee.
“This poem was written by Mom,” she looked over at her sister and smiled. Her lips were pressed together showing fond remembrance mixed with bitter regret at the loss of their dear mother not so many years ago. How she wished that she could have her still by her side to read the words that she had personally penned so lovingly. Oh, to be able to hear her voice speak out the simple ode.
In her stead, my own mother began to read the poem that my grandmother wrote. There came a moment when she tried to have someone else finish reading, not able to go on because her eyes were blurred by tears. Recovering, she read the rest broken and shaky.
Upon finishing we dried our tears. Did anyone know when she had written this? How is it that you found it? Why had we never heard it before today? None of these questions found answers. Perhaps a bit sacrilegiously my aunt asked her sister to make a photocopy as I told them I was going to post it on my blog so that the whole family could see. My mother was now the mother of three mothers and I was saddened that only I had been present for the reading, alongside just one of my aunts. Wouldn’t all the other sons, daughters, aunts, uncles and cousins like to see it?
Being an egocentric pre-pubescent when my grandma passed away the memories that
I have of this special woman are few yet fond. While my youth did not afford me the wisdom to value our encounters my station now in life draws me to close my eyes and remember the details of the time I spent with the mother of my mother. After hearing this poem I can understand how selflessness was formed in my mom so that in my rearing I also received a giving and unselfish heart.
That plain piece of paper with a bunch of words on it has changed into a treasure. Then again, maybe it was not the paper that changed at all; rather it was I who changed. These words hung framed on the wall of the hall in our house during our formative years. I had never taken much notice of them. Now they will occupy a space on my own wall.
“Reflections on Motherhood”
a poem by
Laura Kavan
As a day honoring Mothers fast approaches,
I, as a mother, am thinking and thinking.
This whole celebration is quite out of order.
So little of the credit belongs to me
Who just happens to be a mother.
As I sit and write, great humility fills my soul.
To think that so much honor and praise
Can go with the most wonderful thing in the world
The honor of being a mother.
A feat I could never win alone
Yet on this day, the honor is mine.
But the trophy is so great, I guess I’ll just accept
Then try in this small way
To make you all, who I love so dear
Understand just how much you mean to me.
For without you, a mother I would never be.
Mother and Gram and Gramp or whatever you’re so fondly called
Your part in my fame is supreme
For without your love and teaching and help along the way
A wife and mother I could never be.
Les, ‘Daddy’, ‘Dear’, ‘Honey’ or whatever else I may call you
My love for you must tell you all the things in my heart
Because feelings so deep, words cannot express
But your contribution to my great day
Is ever increasing as each year passes
Til now, you must share this honor with me
For apart from you, this wonderful person, a mother I could never be.
And to you dear children –
Joyce, Jerry, Jill and Kristy
I’m so proud to be your mother
Tis honor enough to share the happiness you produce
Without a special date to honor someone so humble as your mother.
Now as my thoughts begin to ebb.
I must praise and honor you, dear God
For this wonderful way of life
And ask you to help me be, a Mother
As understanding as Thee.
Friday, May 18
Funky Flunky Fixed by Friends
“Funky flunky”, that was me at the beginning of this week. I was trying to blame it all on circumstances but it all came back to the big “A” word: attitude; mine was not too fabulous. Quite the contrary! In fact I could say that I got an “F” in attitude a few days ago. I was frustrated, flustered, fretful, furious, forgetful, fidgety, frizzled, frazzled and frumpy. I failed.
In all my frustration I grumbled out a complaining prayer, which only led to genuine conviction of the need to repent about a few things. Having done that, I felt relieved and was able to let some things go. Things started looking up. I spoke to some friends, good friends. And I didn’t grumble to them. Nope. I just chatted. Bit by bit I could feel my spirits lifting. It was great!
Here is a quote from Pastor Brian Zahnd that I haven’t forgotten, “Launch your breakthrough from a breakthrough position.” Meaning that when you need a breakthrough you need to surround yourself with people that are full of faith, and when you do that you can launch forth into victory.
The friends that I interacted with might not even have known that they were strategically placed around me by my Loving Lord to bring me out of a funk into an overcoming attitude. Thanks guys! I love my friends.
Here are a couple of pictures of my dear friends with me.
In all my frustration I grumbled out a complaining prayer, which only led to genuine conviction of the need to repent about a few things. Having done that, I felt relieved and was able to let some things go. Things started looking up. I spoke to some friends, good friends. And I didn’t grumble to them. Nope. I just chatted. Bit by bit I could feel my spirits lifting. It was great!
Here is a quote from Pastor Brian Zahnd that I haven’t forgotten, “Launch your breakthrough from a breakthrough position.” Meaning that when you need a breakthrough you need to surround yourself with people that are full of faith, and when you do that you can launch forth into victory.
The friends that I interacted with might not even have known that they were strategically placed around me by my Loving Lord to bring me out of a funk into an overcoming attitude. Thanks guys! I love my friends.
Here are a couple of pictures of my dear friends with me.
Monday, May 14
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