On Roots

The other day while texting with our missions coordinator back in the states, I was filling her in on all the amazing things happening lately (the couch story & the great ex-pat sale among them!)
Then I told her that we have a chance to buy a vehicle for a really good price.  An SUV with 4WD that's great for driving on these crazy Tanzanian roads.  A diesel engine, a good history, and only a 3 year old engine in it.  And that's when she said:

"Putting down roots..."

I hadn't ever thought of it that way.

Proof is in the Pudding.... er... Home Furnishings?

Today I'm reminded of pudding.  And roots.  But first: the pudding.
Let me back up...
When we first found this house, there was a man that offered to sell us his very nice couch for the low price of only $75. A great deal for the completely upholstered piece - a rarity in these parts. We jumped on it (though, not literally) and were thrilled with our new couch!

SO thrilled, that we (apparently) forgot to take a photo of it IN our actual living room- so here's the best one we have.  Bonus for the cute jam session happening.

I am NOT a Hoarder... but kind of I am.

When that show "Hoarders" first came out, I couldn't help but watch it.
Until I started getting heart palpitations.
It was as if those piles of newspapers, cardboard boxes and other stuff would somehow, in some mysterious way, push their way through the TV screen right into my living room.
I had to turn the channel.  I just couldn't watch.

Just Did It

... part 2 of our "Just Do It" story continues here, if you aren't caught up hop on over and read Part 1 HERE. 

I clicked the RESERVE button and a new screen popped up after a few minutes (dial-up speeds, remember?).  It said something like, "Please go to your nearest office to pay, your tickets have been held for 48 hours."

Just Do It

What a slogan. I like the shoes, but sometimes it's hard for me to "just do it."
Whether I like it or not, my life and my choices are constantly being looked at, and sometimes even being judged. It comes with being human. It's magnified with being a Christian. And sometimes, unfortunately, it's directly related to our income as missionaries.

Adventures of a Third Culture Kid: Snot Edition

Last Sunday we were blessed to spend a relaxing, low-key afternoon with some dear friends that are now taking their furlough in America.  It was a lovely afternoon, chilled by some cloud cover, filled with the fragrance of fresh-baked quiche for lunch, and the crunch of our home-grown salad was still lingering in the air.  It was a time for us to have one last hurrah before their departure, and it was a refreshing, soul-satisfying time.
Much to my surprise, candles were lit upon the lava cake, the Song was sung, balloons were played with, and we retired to the living area for coffee and conversation.
That's when it happened.

When There is No Light at the End of the Tunnel {and You Just Want Your Fat Pants}

Tanzania is home.
It's been home in our hearts for 3 years, and in reality for about 2 years.
We love it here.  Really.  We love the culture, the weather, the people, the life... all of it.  We don't always like the bugs or the dust or the way things work (or... don't), but this is home.
This. Is. Home.
I've been saying that over and over and I truly feel it.  When we were in the States on furlough last summer, we were pretty much ready to come back after about 2 weeks.  People would ask us if we were enjoying being back in the states and our response was almost always, "Yes, but we're ready to get back to the normalcy of home."
We were so glad to get back here, too.  To sleep in our own beds, to get back into the routines of life in Moshi, to catch up on what had happened since our departure. It was glorious.
But what we didn't realize at the time, is how much that tiny pinhole of a light makes a difference. 

The One Where We {accidentally} Drive Our New Danish Friends to Kenya

"It's not too far," they said.
"You shouldn't have too much trouble finding it," they said.
"Just follow the directions on the paper," they said.

Until we reached the customs gate at Kenya.

Let me back up...

Stranger Danger

Growing up I was well aware of 'stranger danger'.  You know: don't take candy from strangers, don't get into a car with strangers, don't talk to strangers.
Now a'days stranger danger takes on a whole new meaning with the word wide web.  When I get email from someone I don't recognize it almost always gets deleted immediately.  When someone asks to be my friend, or sends me a message on Facebook, I always check their profile and our mutual friends first.  If there are no mutual friends I'm especially careful about accepting friend requests, and 99% of the time I don't.
But.
On Wednesday we drove an hour to the Kilimanjaro International Airport to hug a lady & her husband passing through from California.  I'd never met her before in my life, but her hug was the warmest, most sincere hug I'd never expected to experience.