"Alex"

Alexandra ("Alex") Joy Kern was born November 22, 2010 weighing 6 lbs, 7 oz. and we could not be more thrilled with her!

Her two older brothers love to sit on the couch and hold her while her sister is a bit over-the-top in her excitement with the new little one. Every time someone comes to the house, she starts to jump up and down and screech excitedly pointing at "Aaahex".

hike in the woods

It is sometimes hard to even think back and remember what life was like in Mozambique last year around this time. The months tend to blend into one-another without the changing of seasons like we have in North America.

This year it has been so fun to experience autumn with the kids--the rushing in of fresh, cool weather, brightly colored leaves, pumpkins and apples, hot chocolate... The other day we took a Saturday morning to take them on a hike in a state park.

Cohen and Christian bundled up with their new hats and loved alternately running ahead and dwadling behind looking for acorns, rocks, leaves, and special sticks.

Wesley rode on Stefan's back for most of the hike.

They enjoyed a snack from a lookout point.

The boys in the family (and even Mommy) are getting used to the...emotional drama...that sometimes comes with little girls.

Fortunately, Wesley's little "storms" don't usually last long and she is quickly back to her charming and typically joyful self.

glimpses

Diapers and Hermeneutics classes, reading seven chapters from "Foundational Bible Teaching" while watching three kids and folding laundry, logging work-detail hours while praying for the troubled boy met during community outreach, chatting with a friend in Mozambique about their recent country riots...and then calling a friend in Lexington to chat about child-rearing--these are just a few of the facets and responsibilities that have been occupying our days the past few weeks as we settle in to classes here at the New Tribes Mission Training Center. Our lives have felt a bit fragmented at times as we juggle our responsibilities with our growing family, the communities we are a part of around the world, and our classes here in Missouri.

Sometimes I even find myself wondering what God is doing. Wondering things like...

...why He's blessing us with another baby--in the middle of the semester!
...why we find ourselves putting our five-year-old on a school bus every day when had been looking forward to home-schooling.
...why we find ourselves back in classes in the middle of Missouri rather than a year at "home" in Kentucky

Over our last four years in Mozambique we have found that the Lord often clearly sets us off in a direction without always giving specific insight into why He is moving or what He is doing. We know He is acting but our perspective is so narrow that we mostly just feel the growing pains.

And then there are those rare moments when He gives us a glimpse of the beauty of what He is doing...

I saw my daughter's face for the first time the other day--in three-dimension--her tiny hands clenched up by her delicate features as beautiful as any face I've ever seen. I haven't met her yet--still another nine weeks or so to go--but it was such a special moment to get a glimpse of what God is doing as He actively forms her. It isn't that I have not known He's been at work--there have been some pretty clear signs! Like the fact that I can't hardly walk up the long hill from classes to our apartment every day without panting heavily...or that my 18-month-old daughter runs around the house chanting "belly, belly, belly" and asking for peeks at my ever-so-conspicuous one.

It can be so easy to focus on the uncomfortable things in our lives--the growing pains. But I am finding that it helps to remember that my perspective is so incomplete and that God is doing something through that process--that all the stretching is somehow for His glory--and maybe for something beautiful. He doesn't always show us...but it is pretty amazing when He does!

My daughter's strange connection to my suitcase

So in April we left Mozambique and the Indian Ocean, and began our travels back to America. For Stefan and I it has been coming "home" in many ways. But the reality is that for our children it was leaving "home" and everything with which they were familiar.

It is June now and we have been on the road and living out of suitcases for two straight months...with two more months of travel on the horizon before we finally settle down for a time. We have had so many neat experiences on our travels...visiting family in Germany, going to Virginia Beach to meet the kids' uncles and aunts, going camping in Kentucky and spending hours visiting with friends.

And it has been so fun to explore life in America through our kids' perspective as they take in so many new experiences...like wearing fun pajamas to bed every night, eating cheerios for breakfast, discovering the hours of entertainment that a playground holds, and watching a rabbit or squirrel in the backyard (strange animals compared to the monkeys and crocodile's they are more familiar with). It has been such a special time. But...we're still living out of suitcases.

Wesley in particular has seemed a bit unsure of all the movement and change and has developed a peculiar attachment to my suitcase. It probably has something to do with the easy access to things that she is not usually allowed to play with like Mommy's make-up or hair dryer. She takes great delight in rummaging through the neat piles of clothes and throwing them up in the air and out onto the floor. She occasionally completely re-arranges the items and I'll find she has re-packed my clothes in HER suitcase. But many times I find her just sitting there...watching all the movement around her. Or I find that she has taken her bowl of snack or box of raisins and, rather than sit in the living room or in the dining room with everyone else, she takes them into my room, climbs into my suitcase, and munches on them in there.

I'm trying not to read too much into it...otherwise I think of things like: "Perhaps this behavior is an indication of extreme insecurity. Maybe subconsciously she is afraid of being left behind and therefore positions herself by (or in this case IN) something that she knows will always be taken along on our journey..." (I know, I know...more than likely she just enjoys playing in a large box like any well-adjusted toddler).

A few weeks before we left Mozambique, I wrote out a memory verse for both Cohen and Christian...truths that I wanted to teach and encourage them with throughout our upcoming travels. Christian has been learning Psalm 46:1 "God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble." And Cohen has been memorizing "The Lord is good, a safe place in times of trouble. And He knows those who come to Him to be safe, " from Nahum 1:7. Obviously one-year-old Wesley is not quite old enough to be comforted by those words or her "own" verse. But the truth is, I think that at their ages (1, 3
and nearly5), all three of my children's feelings of security and safety and peace is much more dependent on the extent that I believe and appropriate those truths than to the extent that THEY understand them. Although it is great that I can remind them of those truths when they are showing fear or anxiety and unrest...I think the reality is that I need to be reminded of them even more. And as I rest in them, the tone atmosphere of my home is changed and the children sense peace and security. It's just something I've been thinking about...

And in the meantime...I'm enjoying the antics of my sweet daughter in her special, mobile, comfy "box."

visit to Ana

The other day Wesley and I took a walk to go visit Ana--the girl who works for us--where she lives on the outskirts of town in the "bairo." We rode the "chapa" (public transportation) for the first 30 minutes or so and then walked another 45 minutes on a less accessible road.

Ana lives in a cinder-block home surrounded by a walled courtyard with several fruit trees and an outhouse. She had her clothes hanging up on a line that she had washed by hand early that morning before making the trek to our place to work.

They don't have electricity or running water set up. But she had a large cement tank to catch run-off rain water from the roof during the wet season.

Wesley enjoyed the morning playing on the "estera" (mat) in the shade. She is used to having the run of the house and crawling and climbing wherever she pleases (what with our western culture of bleaching everything and 'baby-proofing' our houses)--but out in the "bairo" the surroundings are not so child-friendly. Typically all the food preparation and cleaning is done at ground level which allows things like hot coals, knives, etc. within easy reach (not to mention a plethora of broken glass, sharp metal, and other trash lying around). I've always been amazed at how Mozambican babies seem so content to play on a mat and sort of thought my rambunctious and curious babies wouldn't do it that well. But I found with a lot of re-direction, she eventually learned her boundaries and spent over an hour playing with a lemon and her water bottle...of course she did get a lot of attention from Ana.

After making the long walk to Ana's house, I wasn't really sure how long we would stay. But upon arrival, Ana sent her brother out to buy four little river fish...and when he came back and started cleaning them, I realized we were expected for lunch!

He and Ana prepared a simple and typical Mozambican meal of grilled fish seasoned with lemon and garlic and "xima" (cooked cornmeal).

Ana served our meal on plates with a side of water to wash our hands in throughout the meal whenever they became too..."goopy"...with the xima and fish. It was delicious! Unfortunately I had forgotten my water bottle...and after that 45 minute walk in the hot sun, a few hours of sitting around in the Mozambican heat, and eating a salty meal I was completely parched. So I braved a glass of water too. (To be honest, I think SHE was more concerned about me coming down with something from the water than I was--over the last few months she's worked with us she has picked up on how germ conscious we are--comparatively speaking--and I think she was convinced that within a few minutes my "weak" Western body would be in convulsions. We were both pleasantly surprised that there were no ill effects from the water).

Pink Icing

I have so thoroughly enjoyed having two rough and tumble boys that my pleasure in mothering a girl has surprised me a bit, I think. A year ago, our newborn baby ushered in a a whole new world of ribbons and dresses, baby dolls and purses, drama and sweetness. Sometimes I wonder how we ever existed without it.

I never really liked pink growing up myself...but it was absolutely delightful to put those drops of pink food coloring in the icing making cupcakes for my one-year-old daughter's birthday!

beautiful Africa

A few days ago Stefan and I left our work and the city behind to spend a morning hiking around in some land further out in the district. Well, I guess it wasn't completely leaving work behind since part of our time was spent looking together at the land where the Christian International School will likely be buitl (the project Stefan has spent the past two years working on). It was so great to spend the morning out in the open climbing rocks, wading through a few marshes, and walking through a few "machambas" (the local farms) planted with rice, peanuts, corn, sourgum, and manioc. It was nice to dream, too, about the possibility of moving outside the city when we return to Mozambique a year from now... The past four years we haven't exactly spent much of our time in the beautiful part of Africa; rather, we've been in the city--croweded, oppressive heat, overwhelming smells, sewage and trash, violence and noise. And by God's grace we've managed to stay sane and learned to find beauty in small things. But how refreshing it was to be surrounded by physical beauty again!

So while Stefan and I were out on our fun "date," some friends cared for Cohen and Christian on a nearby farm. They had so much fun playing with the animals and exploring the extensive grounds. They were completly hot, sweaty, tired, and rosy-cheeked by the end of the day--just the way I like my boys! Wesley stayed home and spent the morning with one of her favorite people--Ana, our house helper, who adores and completely spoils her.

3

Christian had some friends over to celebrate his 3rd birthday by splashing around in a few wading pools in our yard.

He was particularly excited about his birthday cake and especially liked choosing the sprinkles to put on it. He was completely proud that he was FINALLY the one who got to blow out candles (after attending multiple parties where he was told NOT to blow them out).

Of course we told him he did not have permission to touch the flame when it sparkled back to life. But in the constant testing of boundaries, curiosity, and (ahem) defiance that is life with Christian, sometimes we find it best to let him discover the consequences of disreguarding wisdom on his own...so yes, he walked away from his birthday party with two slightly singed fingers (and absolutely no remorse).

Stefan decided to give Wesley a taste of egg white and chocolate a month earlier than the traditional "one year". Of course she loved it...and loved her daddy for it.

Christian got his first bike--but it took a while for it to sink in. Cohen seemed more excited than Christian at first (perhaps because his little mind jumped to the implications that he wouldn't have to "share" his anymore?)

seething

So yesterday I came home from the market a little disheveled and...well..."seething" I think would be the appropriate term.

Every Sunday Nampula has a "feira" or an open-air market that is well-stocked with everything from local hand-made housewares and furniture to piles upon piles of second-hand shoes and clothes. It also has quite a lot of artifacts made by local artisans and yesterday, I decided I would go and browse for a few items I had been needing. Like all markets, it is noisy and packed with people trying to get you to sell you their products and the hundreds of people shopping. Despite the chaos that accompanies shopping at the feira, I usually really enjoy it--there is something refreshing about leaving the kids at home with Stefan and having an hour to myself to walk, do some shopping, and just participate in part of the experience of living in Africa. However, although refreshing, going to the feira isn't really relaxing as you spend a lot of your time being shoved and hassled and pursued by vendors--not to mention petty thieves.

Yesterday I was particularly hounded by a few vendors and at one point a man started following me and grabbed hold of my arm. I tried to shake him off but he was persistent and I had to put up quite a little scuffle to finally get him to let go of me--raising my voice and elbowing him(meanwhile the guys in the stand right in front of me watched with a smirk and did nothing to help). A little while later, I felt someone grabbing my arm again and realized it was that same man--but I noticed he really wasn't trying to sell anything. Walking back up that same isle, a man started yelling at me saying I had stepped on his fabric that he had displayed on the ground. Then someone else from behind me started yelling and saying that I should just apologise. But something didn't feel right about it because I was pretty sure I hadn't stepped anywhere near the fabric and even if I had, they seemed to be making a big deal about it--abnormally so--so I kept walking...and when I looked back, I saw that the man who claimed I had stepped on his fabric was walking away--it wasn't even his stand!

At that point that point I should have realized that I was being targeted and should have just left--but I had a few more purchases to make and after each incident, I had grabbed my bag and felt to be sure I had everything. I felt pretty on edge for the rest of my shopping and finally just decided to go home. As I was walking away from the market, someone let out a yell that I had stepped on their foot! (Incidentally, this was a little odd because in a market like that everyone is constantly shoving and hassling to get by--so no one says anything like that). I looked down to see where I had stepped and then looked up and realized it was that SAME MAN who had grabbed me twice before! I rushed out of the market and got on the first "chapa" (transport van) I could find to go home.

On the chapa ride back to my house I was starting to calm down a bit and was wondering why I was targeted repeatedly--especially since I was so clearly hanging on to my bag and they weren't being successful. As I climbed out of the chapa to walk the rest of the way home, I clutched my bag....and felt the empty pocket where my phone had been! I was SEETHING. I was already stressed and pumped with adrenaline for having been grabbed twice and then publicly yelled at twice by strangers. And then to realize that they had been successful....!

Later when I got home, the men in the family listened as I told my story...and sobbed (crying being the only outlet for my fear, wounded pride, and anger since yelling up a storm would have been highly inappropriate in front of the two youngest little men). Christian and Cohen asked unending questions as they tried to wrap their little innocent minds around what had happened. At one point Christian looked at me skeptically and asked if the man had pulled my hair--apparently he thought I looked a little disheveled! He then promptly offered to find the man and stab him with his fork--the object he happened to have in his hand at that moment since we were sitting down to lunch. Of course I told him that would be inappropriate...(but thanks for the thought, sweetie!) Cohen, after listening to the story to his satisfaction indicated that he had something to say... "Well, I guess you should NOT have taken your phone with you, Mom." !!!!!!

The older and more experienced male in the family wisely refrained from offering comments on my appearance, proposing reckless revenge or giving counsel on what I should or should not have done. He simply hugged me.

Christian and Cohen think that the next time I go to the market they should go with me for protection.

Little Miss

This past weekend we packed the kids in the car and drove to the ocean for three wonderful days on the beach. Of course all the preparation and packing required for three days away with little kids leaves a person in need of vacation if one didn't already. In all the last minute shuffle, Wesley was somewhat ignored (compared to her defalt as center of attention) and at one point I found her rummaging through our food basket and finally finding and helping herself to a banana. Little Miss Independent apparently didn't realize she needed to peel the banana before she ate it.


She's been trying to walk on her own recently, too! Someone needs to remind her she is only ten months old!

We always find the ocean so calming and relaxing. The kids are so easily entertained by the waves and ocean creatures and endless stretch of sand.

Little Miss did not want to be held while near the water. She wiggled and complained extensively until we finally just let her eat sand to her hearts content and crawl head on into the waves.

What we don't have pictures for but also contributed to our special weekend: Mommy getting stung by a jelly fish. A green snake outside our cabin. Falling asleep waiting to roast marshmallows. And searching for crabs on the beach at night with flashlights.

why I find myself staring at jars of yogurt

Recently I’ve been finding something so cheering in looking at a clothes line pinned with row after row of clean white diapers. Or, at the end of the day when the kids have been tucked in bed, I find myself taking a moment to just stare contentedly at my counter lined with jars of fresh yogurt that after a day of incubating are ready to be put in the fridge.

It probably has something to do with my longing, like that of every mother of young children, to have something to show for all my effort at the end of the day. Because most days, allthough I’ve been working from 5:00 am until long after dark, I find it hard to point back to any physical evidence of the things I’ve poured myself into.

How do I measure what I do every day? If I spend an hour making “cakes” and pizzas” with my boys, in the end we squish it all up and put the play dough back in their tubs. And although you can’t tell when you walk in the door, I actually did spend an hour picking up toys and strewn laundry and even did a spot of cleaning today! I made three square meals from “scratch” and even a batch of cookies but you won’t find the results stacked in my fridge, freezer, or pantry. Somehow… mysteriously…they are already gone! And how do you really measure all the patience it took to brush the teeth of a two-year-old who thinks he can do everything himself, or answer a four-year-old’s question (for the fifth time that day) about why it rains, or spoon feed a babbling, daydreaming ten-month-old baby a mashed banana as she occasionally swats at the food?

Having children and moving to Africa has required a huge shift in how I define my “accomplishments”. As a missionary I long to spend more time in concentrated language and culture study and would love to spend an hour reading the Bible with my friend who is so eager to hear the words of God. But I’m learning to be content with spending a few moments laughing with my neighbor over my sons’s attempt to communicate in Portuguese and appreciating the teachable moment with my house helper when we talk about life while we wash the clothes. Even the simple act of being a gracious host looks different now—sometimes I wistfully remember putting together a five course meal, lighting candles, and inviting some friends over for a relaxing evening…but I’m learning to be content with serving a cup of tea to a Mozambican friend who unexpectedly stops by while I’m in the middle of cooking dinner and as our kids run circles around us. And slowly, I’m learning to not place so much stock in checking off the items on my (according to my husband) “never ending” To Do List; rather, to be more in tune to the Spirit’s whisper to set down my bucket and pick up my baby and kiss her…to stop writing that e-mail and give my son my full attention while I explain to him ONE MORE TIME why it’s raining…or to run shrieking around the house as a little “crocodile” chases me.

None of that can really be measured and sometimes I don’t think I’ll see the results for literally years. And some days, although I’m becoming less and less focused on "accomplishments”, I’d still like to see something finished by the time a climb into bed. That’s where those (admittedly odd, but) peaceful moments of staring at yogurt jars in the quiet of the day come in. In a few short hours, the diapers will be dirty again and filling up the buckets. And the yogurt will be in little tummies with the dirty jars waiting to be washed. But for a few sweet and cheering moments, I see the evidence of my work.