“My friends, adoption is redemption. It’s costly,

exhausting, expensive, and outrageous. Buying back

lives costs so much. When God set out to redeem us, it

killed Him.” Derek Loux .

And to that I will just add in the words of former slaves:

“Freedom, isn’t free.”

“We reach for God in many ways.  Through our sculptures and our scriptures.  Through our pictures and our prayers.  Through our writing and our worship.  And through them He reaches for us.

His search begins with something said.  Ours bgins with something heard.  His begins with something shown. Ours with something seen.  Our search for God and His search for us meet at windows in our everday experience.

These are the windows of the soul.

In a sense, it is something like spiritual disciplines for the undisciplined.  In another sense, it is the most rigorous of disciplines – the discipline of awareness. For we must always be looking and listening if we are to see the windows and hear what is being spoken to us through them.

But we must learn to look with more than just our eyes and listen with more than just our ears, for the sounds are sometimes faint and the sights sometimes far away.  We must be aware, at all times and in all places, because windows are everywhere and at any time we may find one.

Or one may find us. Though we will hardly know it.  . . . unless we are searching for Him who has so long been searching for us.”

-Windows of the Soul, Ken Gire

I find this discipline, the discipline of awareness, the most crucial and most rigorous of all disciplines.  I know He has been, and is, calling me to full awareness, to Practicing His Presence as Brother Lawrence wrote.  The discipline of awareness isn’t counting on ourselves to find a window; it is seeing the window find us because we are after HIM.

I’m a bit silent here on the blog. . . . . and many other places as well. You could call me anti-social right now, not returning friends’ calls or spending much time out and about other than what is absolutely required. I’m gaining my footing here, finding my way in this strange land called America. And I’m glad I’m being patient and gracious with myself, with my need for silence and for pondering and for just BEing much of the time.

I’m pondering many things, and if I get inspired I’ll write more about them. I’m pondering communication with God and hearing his voice; pondering conscious consumerism, pondering the phenomenon of big-time bloggers (fascinating!), and of course pondering our future (occasionally).

We’re on a treasure hunt here in Dallas, Texas. Following the God-signs to see what comes next. And as I catch little glimpses, little bits sticking out like the edge of a paper clue, I feel satisfied; deep down. We’ve got some idea of where we’re going, some idea of what’s ahead. A string of what IS and WILL BE along with the long list of what isn’t and what may not.

So, surrounded by our dear friends and our combined six noisy children, I enjoy the silence of my self-imposed anti-social-life. And ponder.

Seen written in BIG letters on a Burger King paper tray-mat:

“Burger King. Because you have the right to have exactly WHAT you want WHEN you want it.”

Tell that to any kid in Bundibugyo and watch them stare at you like you’re crazy.

And they’d be right.

I brought that traymat home to put in my journal. So that I would NEVER, NEVER FORGET.

One more reason NOT to eat Burger King. And you can super-size that sentiment.

Spent a great afternoon with John and Karen – two really cool people who I’m going to pray into missions!!

Karen, an education expert,  introduced me to Geoffrey Canada’s work . . . . . pretty amazing stuff.   I’d love to do this with the basis being JESUS.

http://www.hcz.org/home

We are still emerging from our African life.  Culture shock has made me cautious this  time around.  I feel shell shocked, like a tourist  back to see somewhere I visited long ago.  I sense familiarity but am surprised by reality.

Making lemon poppy seed muffins last week turned into a long lesson in culture with comments from kids about the eggs (why are they white? Why do they have numbers and letters stamped on them?  Why are they so big?  Why do they stay in the fridge?) among questions about many other things.

And our first trip to the library today was thrilling to all as we talked about buying vs borrowing, library cards and fines, and availability of books.  We were thrilled to find books long desired and free for the reading.   Finding old favorites on the shelves in multiple copies kept Quinn loudly exclaiming around every turn – time for a talk about voice volumes and American culture!

We have yet to  visit a grocery store (please no!), or do much of any shopping but the kids had an amazing time visiting drive throughs on our trip south last week.  Quinn had heard stories of restaurants where they hand your food through a window and he was not disappointed by the experience!  They pled for highway stops just to experience the radio order and the friendly hand extended to our car. . . . .

Driving back and forth to Annapolis is full of unexpected wonder as we discover license plate differences (one for each state?! Really?! What about for each country?  I think I just saw a license plate for India, Dad!!)

Enroute to Tennessee late last week I limped (TERRIBLE infection in my leg) into a gas station with my children for a potty break. “America’s gas station bathrooms are BEAUTIFUL!” Naomi said.  “And the gas station stores are better than  Kampala!”   Strolling up to the desk I was surprised by the clerk who wanted to make conversation and asked me, “how are you, REALLY?”  Discovering that the random people around me not only speak my language but a similar dialect has not ceased to shock me and I found myself scrambling to orient myself and answer her.

“Didn’t that lady have what you call a ‘buckaroo accent??’” , asked Quinn as we exited the store. Um, yea.  My children are open to all cultures and races but perhaps not too sensitive to the south.

These are just a few random snippets from our lives right now.  Full lives.  Exciting lives.  Good lives.  God continues to show us the way one step at a time or sometimes a few weeks ahead.  And we continue to enjoy the journey, not without fears or tears but with much learning.   More stories to come.

From Jesus Calling: a book that speaks the heart of God, to us.  Not inerrant but Spirit-inspired:

Listen more to Me, and less to your doubts.  I am leading you along the way I desgned just for you.  Therefore, it is a lonely way, humanly speaking.  But I go before you as well as alongside you, so you are never alone.  Do not expect anyone to understand fully My ways with you, any more than you can comprehend MY deaings with others.  I am revealing to you the path of LIFE day by day, and moment by moment.  As I said to my disciples Peter, so i repeat to you:  Follow Me.

See what our awesome friends did for our welcome home party!!  They slurped our blog via Blurb and now it’s official – a book of 426 pages!  I hope I’m not narcissistic enough to read it!

Thanks Kees, Leights and Lowes!  We had a wonderful time with you all on Sunday – can’t wait to do it again!

Sickness has hit the Pierce family hard, post-travel.  In addition to three festering staph infections, I  have slept forty out of the last forty-eight hours with fevers and a hacking cough as has Quinn. Naomi got sick last night. David is the lone man standing, drinking and resting and hoping it won’t hit him too. . . . . if I haven’t emailed or called you back, this is why.

We re-entered American life Sunday with our first trip into the real world, to church.  It was a great time of hugs, smiles and reunion.  How many friends we are blessed to have.  Worshiping with our church was a gift.

What startled me, though, was the question on EVERYBODY’s mind: “so, what’s your plan?”   This question, strangely, overwhelmed me in a way perhaps no other would have done.  And after about the thirtieth time it was asked I almost burst into tears and ran to the ladies room! (but no, those Ugandan ladies have taught me more stoicism than that.)

So what’s our plan??  I think it has about three steps to it:  wake up each day, ask Jesus what He’s doing and how He wants me us to get involved,  then go and be a part of it.  We HAVE tentatively decided to take from now till the end of August for travel (both speaking as well as  visits to friends/relatives), rest, and processing of our experience.  This will be a very busy time of travel but we believe we will still rest deeply and debrief well.  Unprocessed “stuff” surely holds us back as we desire to  move forward so this six months will be crucial.  After that??  God only knows.  We have applied to several ministry schools for the fall and are unsure whether God is asking us to move that way or not.  We are very interested in staying long term in missions work overseas.  But we are open to living WHEREVER God asks us to, even if that means being a soccer mom! ( I know, how horrifying!)

I think the reason this question was hard for me is because it taps at the root of this faith journey we are on right now.   It is a reminder that what looks to us like faith ( being obedient to not knowing even the future a few days ahead sometimes) looks to others like foolishness and poor planning.    When I sense that it looks that way to others I quickly tend to doubt myself instead of trusting Him. So this question was an opportunity, for me, to learn better how to embrace my choice of faith proudly and without shame.  Uganda was plan A,  radically trust Jesus with the future is plan B.  We’re on plan B now.  And that’s a pretty cool place to be.

Yesterday my friend Dana (more on THAT welcome party to come!) brought me a card.  When I opened it I burst into silent tears, because the quote is so perfect, so fitting and because I am so thankful that she GETS it and that she reminds me that He and many others do too.  Even many who ask the question “what’s your plan” not knowing how I will respond.   The card said simply;

“not all who wander are lost” jrr tolkein

We are wanderers for the moment, BUT WE ARE THE FARTHEST WE HAVE EVER BEEN, FROM LOST.

We “reached” yesterday afternoon to a full contingent of Flanagans (we missed you Andrew, Sarah and boys!) at the airport and at home.  This is the home I grew up in. The home I homeschooled in for 11 grades.  I know almost everything in this house by heart:  the peacock feathers from my gramma’s peahens,  my sister Alison’s beautiful art, the antique child’s secretary that I played librarian and “wallpaper seller” (yes, an early ambition) with as a small child, posters of Oregon wine country from that phase of our lives, flowers everywhere because my mother loves them so, our antique chest, my old bedroom that I decorated at age 12 and still think is beautiful, the design I stamped on my brother James’ wall, curtains I made, many many books I have read. . . . . . . Yes this is home from long ago and far away and somehow it has come close again because we are home from long ago and far away too and memories have changed and become new just as places have and yet somehow it is all the same and familiar and warm and more beautiful than I remembered.  My mother has a gift for making simple things beautiful in the cherishing.

All five pieces of luggage made it through every single leg of the journey.  And we did too despite more throwing up on the plane (once Quinn coughs he can not stop)  and  and yet another traffic incident (train wreck in Belgium) that left us scrambling to get across the Channel in time for our flight.

Now we figure out what being here, now, means.  We combine the joys of reuinions and remembered things with the losses of our other way of life.  We find that things our family remembered we loved we had forgotten to miss (Clausens pickles!)   America is bigger and better and louder and realer than it ever seemed in Bundibugyo.  But it may be lonely too.

It is so hard to remember the pitch at CSB, the hot sun, the touch of warm black fingers on my arms, hunger.  And that makes me sad.

But wherever you are, said Jim Elliot, be all there.  So we are here, now.  Loving it. And remembering to forget what might be forgotten in the joy of remembering what was, right now.