So how did it end?

Well, Ethiopia was amazing. The last day was full of trying to figure out how we were going to get Kim home with Netzanette and then her realizing that though I was originally supposed to leave after her, she would be leaving the day after me. She would have to brave it alone for a day and I must say, I wasn't ready to leave her there. She was full of stress and anxiety over the embassy and paperwork and I just felt like I should be there with her until she was boarding a plane. God's plan was different than that and I had to board at 10PM that Monday night.

I went to the airport with time to spare. I was tired, but energized at the idea of heading home to see my family. I looked through the shops in the airport and found some really neat home made albums to buy for Kim as a thank you gift for an amazing time. I found the cutest tshirts there too, but decided against them as they were unbelievably expensive. I waited. I saw other adoptive families all waiting with their new family members in the terminal. I waited some more.

Finally it was time to go. My section was called and I boarded a plane for Germany and connecting through Sudan. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I discovered that just weeks prior to my departure to Africa, a plane had crashed in the rugged airport of Sudan because of the sand storm interfering with the plane engine. I had to admit, I was not looking forward to stopping in Sudan and just wanted to get on to a European nation where it just felt more familiar.

The flight went slow. I was trying to stay awake so that my nights and days could be swapped upon my arrival in Phoenix. I had brought sleeping pills and decided to take them on the leg from Germany to Chicago, thus remaining awake from Chicago into Phoenix and hopefully feeling like I could sleep once my head hit the pillow of my own bed. I only slept about 30 minutes when the plane touched down in Sudan. I was happy to have fought off the sleep my body was desperately wanting.

The plane was not full upon landing. Upon take off from Sudan, it was a different story. A darkly colored Sudanian sat next to me in our two seat row. I was against the window but offered to exchange the seat for him because he was unhappy with the way he seat reclined. I look back and what was I thinking?? He was an educated man. He was a doctor of obstetrics in Sudan and had a wife and two beautiful children. He proudly showed them to me on his cell phone. He was on his way to London to stay with friends and take some classes to further his education. He seemed nice and innocent at first. We laughed a bit, I shared my thoughts on all I had seen in Africa and he shared about Sudan and the ups and downs of African life there. He told me I should actually get off the plane next time I came through and for a moment, a short moment I now claim and temporary insanity, I thought I might. It sounded like a nice pit stop to a tired and delirious woman.

As conversation dried up and I worked to force my eyelids open, I found this man's hand on my leg. I moved my leg away and shifted my body. He told me that he liked me. That I was nice... then began to tell me about how in his country, some men take second wives. I pulled away and told him that I was a Christian and very opposed to that idea and that it was really offensive to me that any man would or could do that to a wife he loved. He, of course, agreed with me. Just like a creepy man, right? YUCK. Anyway, he then grabs my hand to hold and and continues to tell me about the women in his country. I felt a need to remain polite. I was trapped. The plane was full. I had 3 hours left to go and no way out... I pulled my hand away and used it to open my back pack to remove a book I had no interest in reading. Avoidance would be my strategy of survival and let's just say that my fear of sleeping too long on the flight was nothing to be worried about at all. I could not sleep because of the broken seat, the creep next to me, and the time zone change I was struggling to uphold.

When the plane landed, I did my best to act unterrified. Is that a word? Well, that is what I was shooting for. I waited patiently as the people filed off the plane ahead of me and made my way as I always did, until we got to the tunnel. From there, my pace exponentially increased until I was clearly on my own and heading in who knows what direction. I had time to spare so figured I would discover my location once I knew I was alone and safe to do so.

Well, (boys don't read this part!) wouldn't you know my period started. I was having cramps the last hour of the flight and the realization that all sanitary products were checked in and likely somewhere between Ethiopia and Arizona. First thing I needed to do was to change my money back into either euros or dollars. I had saved enough to get me home comfortably and to account for any missed flights, etc. I was now familiar with the airport from my trip to Ethiopia, so headed for the changing counter once I knew I was alone and free to do so. They would NOT take Ethiopian birr. I sorted through my euros from my first pass through and counted a total of 7 euros. I headed for the restroom to find a vending machine. Apparently in Germany, people are less concerned with their periods and more concerned with "welcome home sex" because tampons and pads were no where to be found in any of the machines in all three bathrooms I could find. Should I ask someone? What should I do?? I didn't know who would speak english and what they called what I needed there anyway. I opted to see if the little shop would take a credit card. I lucked out and they did. I bought my "supplies" and an applejuice. (Yes, it cost me about $35 to do so) and decided that I would not get to eat this time through Germany. I had about 2 hours before I needed to worry about my next flight at this point and knew that I would have about 3 security checks before I got to my gate. I checked to see if my flight was on time and headed in the general direction of my gate. There I found some lounge chairs in a long walkway connecting terminals.

I sat. I put my bag down beside me and pulled the last granola bar from it. I opened my magazine, cracked open my juice, and munched on my bar. My legs were out on the footrest, my seat slightly reclined and boy did it feel good to be lounging. I could see the first security check at the end of the walkway and knew that I would sit here and read until my juice was gone. It was about a $15 bottle of juice and I was NOT going to throw it in the trash because of security.

I startled myself awake, realizing that I had dozed off for a few minutes. I didn't know how long I had been out but hadn't slept hard since I had left Phoenix 9 days ago and knew it couldn't have been for long. I decided that my juice would take but a minute and if I were going to doze off, I had better be seated at my terminal to do so to insure I made my flight. I gathered my things and went to pull my passport out of my.... I had not put it in my bag. I had used it as ID for my credit card since my drivers license was not with me and had put it on the top of my magazine. It was not there. My mind raced. I knew it was not in my bag but tried to convince my tired mind otherwise and searched for it several times. I found the employee who had helped me find my gate number and asked her if she had seen it. She advised me to go to the police and I did.

What was I going to do? I was in Germany with no ID at all. My tickets were also with my passport and missing. I had no tickets for my flight. No ID. No cash that they would take and now even my credit cards were no good because my ID was gone. I was stranded. I broke down as I told the police man my situation. He made it clear that I was inferring that someone had stollen it. I knew they had. I did not move and knew where it was. I was kicking myself for closing my eyes. How did this happen to me? How?

I was advised to go and get my flight tickets reprinted and to ask them if they would allow me to board since I was heading to my native country. I knew that would not work. How would they know it was my native country? All languages reside all over these days. The line was long. I cried as I explained to the lady behind the counter what had happened and she reprinted my tickets though I heard all of the other ticketing ladies tell their clients that they were on strike and could not help them. I was thankful that she pittied me. She told me that I would need to go back to the police and get my ID back or I would be stuck.

I could hardly look the police officer in the eyes. I was so wanting to be home. I just wanted these long flights to all be over. I was exhausted and starving. He could see the panic in my face and called our department of Homeland Security. It turns out that there is an unofficial branch there in Germany and the director met me at the police station in the airport. He was James Bond, only bald, fat, and a bit cocky rather than suave. He asked me a bunch of questions and within minutes had a picture of my face sent from Texas to him on his phone. WOW! That was super sleuth. He would have to escort me all the way to the gate and I would be unable to leave. My tickets got stamped at the last ID check as having a passport and when I asked this man if I could get some documentation that all this had happened so that when I got to Chicago I would not have to go through this again, he told me simply that I could not because he and his department did not exist. I could have NOTHING from him. He wished me luck as I took my seat in the terminal.

I prayed a prayer of thanks that I was able to get back to the states. I knew I could figure it out from there. Next to me was a pay phone. I slid my credit card and called home. I needed to speak to J. I needed something familiar and reassuring and when he answered, I could not contain my tears. I cried. I cried a lot, holding nothing back. I could tell that fellow passengers were listening in but I didn't care. When I hung up the phone, I sat and propped my head against my backpack and went to sleep.

My sleep was light. I could tell that the volume of people had really picked up around me. Turns out our flight was delayed by the strike. It was delayed for 4 hours. People were on the floors, in chairs, and standing. It was hot and the mood was- not nice. I didn't care. I was so tired that I worked to get comfortable in my chair and sleep. Suddenly, I heard my name over the loud speaker. I ran to the counter within the terminal, asking the gentleman next to me to hold my seat, and I just knew there was only one reason they would be calling me. Sure enough, they had my passport! They were calling my name all over the airport for the last hour and finally tried the terminal. They knew I couldn't get into it without the ID so assumed that I would not answer, but there I was. I was overjoyed and relieved. I explained how I got in and they were happy to have helped. In the crowd of angry people, I was the one that now smiled from ear to ear. I would not have to worry about my connection in Chicago and if the plane left soon, I could make the connection.

I resumed my seat and announced to my unfriends that I was sorry but God delayed the plane so that I could get my passport back. Most didn't find it amuzing, but the gentleman next to me that had heard my phone call earlier was thrilled for me.

The flight was long and I slept nearly the whole way. I needed it, too! We arrived to complete chaos in Chicago and had to clear customs. I was told I would not make my connection and was waiting to re-ticket when I noticed that my connecting flight was also delayed by 30 minutes. It COULD be just enough time. I bolted. I boarded the tram, found my terminal, and sprinted to the security check point. There was a long line. I asked in the most pleading voice I could summons if I could go through to the security guard and was promptly denied. I was litterally dancing in my spot in line when a man got in line behind me. He offered to hold my spot while I tried again! How could I not. I had 10 minutes to clear security and get to my gate. It was looking dim. I asked the grumpy guard again. Could she not see how pathetic I was? I was dirty, smelly, puffy eyed... Her boss overheard and allowed me to the pilot line! And the pilots graciously let me cut ahead. My shoes were in the xray machine and I grabbed them. 5 minutes and counting. I flung my backpack on and ran barfooted to the furthest gate. Sweat poured. My breath was gone and my heart was pounding from the stress of the situation. I was the last passenger on as the gate doors closed behind me.

So there I was... on the plane and headed for home. So grateful to be on that plane. So grateful to be going home to a land of so much opportunity. So very grateful to be going home to a family I loved and missed so much. God was so good to get me through my trip and my flight home obstacles. It was incredibly crazy and incredibly beautiful at the same time. The last bit of the trip was really just the icing on the cake, teaching me that I AM NOT IN CONTROL and that I have nothing without Him. I get it. I got it. It is good!

School has started

Well, I am not done with my thoughts on the trip to Ethiopia but I am so slow about writing it all that I am not posting anything about real life around here. So I will now bounce back and forth.

Preschool started for both Cole and Lexi this week. I have to tell you, I don't know who is more excited about it- them or me. They are having so much fun and are so very, very excited to get on that bus and get to their class. Cole has friends that he calls by name and Lexi brought home her first homework assignment today. They are so excited to see me and "tell" me all about there day though they are really short on words at this stage of development.

Abby and I have our time together in the morning but so far most of the time the kids are at preschool (only 2. 5 hours Monday through Thursday) I have been running errands for our rental property and life in general. So many things that got put off or half done this summer while having all three kids with me virtually all of the time.

Being a stay at home mom is such a blessing. I adore my children and enjoy them very much. It does not come without negatives, too, though. I get a bit tired of whining, crying, and fighting. All three kids are so close in age and not fully able to express themselves with words so the end result is that I play mediator more than mother these days. At times I feel guilty for just wanting to put myself in time out rather than them. I try to stay consistent, knowing that this is a phase that one day I will wish I could have back. I also know that being consistent with the rules and consequences will shorten the severity and duration of the phase, or so I hope!

So it is official. School is back in session. I am a bit more sane. They are a bit more sane. And we are all excited to see their little sponge brains soak it all in.

What are my school kids doing right now:

Cole- counts to 10 but usually skips the 7, knows all of his colors, identifies many numbers and letters, knows his name, knows his teacher's name and is nearly toilet trained

Lexi- counts to 5, is an amazing artist drawing faces and coloring in objects, starting to sing "Jesus Loves Me"

Ah, it all goes by so fast!

The Aquaintance Becomes The Friend

We drove back, sharing our thoughts as we could. We cried, we smiled. It was a mixed up time for us all. Poor Tom had already told his friends how crazy we were, praying and crying all of the time. He liked the praying part... but as most men, he didn't know what to do with crying ladies.

We got a bite to eat and headed straight for home. It would be my last night. I took a walk to the little "grocery store" that was accrossed the street from our home. I bought my children some native treats and some local home made soap to take back. Upon checking out, I gave them my flashlight that they had been so impressed with on my many trips. It had a latern feature that would work out nicely in power outages, plus give them something to remember the "crazy white lady" by. Again, I hate to have to remind you of this, but I had quite a reputation and was famous in Ethiopia. They were grateful and laughed as I bounced home.

Up stairs, Kim was packing in hopes of getting a flight first thing the next morning. We would be going to the Visa office to get a British Visa and then Tom and I would spend the day killing time until my flight later that day. That was the plan anyway. Kim was wiped of energy. She could hardly think to pack. Nettie was comfortably resting in bed.

As Kim retired for the night and I lyed snuggly tucked into my bed, there was knock on my door. Who could this be and why? We were ready for bed!

It was the property managing young man, son of the owners, Kibrom. He came in and was seemingly unaware as to what our intentions were at that hour. He sat on the couch, asked about our trip, and finalized a few minor details of us getting checked out. We owed him some money for the phone card we used, internet , etc that we needed to pay up by morning. Kim paid him then and called it a night. KB and I continued to talk.

Without going into much detail, let's suffice it to say that God did not want me sleeping that night. He wanted me THINKING! He wanted KB thinking, too. KB had been going through a discovery period about how God wanted to use him to make a difference for poor people and KB had never even realized just how poor they all really were. He thought that the kids working on the streets were success stories and when I told him that I felt like they were sad stories, he finally got it. He shared many things with me that made me realize just how wasteful and selfish I had been in my life and I felt more convicted at that point, than ever. So many thoughts had been bouncing in my mind and heart the whole trip and I got to spew them all over KB and get honest feedback. It was amazing. He and I cried. We talked. We thought about what could be. We stayed up until the wee hours of morning and when I finally went to sleep, I had the most peaceful sleep of the trip. I had some kind of spiritual cleansing with KB that night and finally was able to put into words so many things that I had been thinking.

I found a friend in KB that night. I grew to trust him and to know him on a level that most people don't know new aquantances on. He was not like many Ethiopians who have money. His family has money and like so many, the sisters of KB all came to America for their lives. KB did not because he wants to make an impact where he is and make a difference for the future of Ethiopia. You ask how? He does, too. He has no miracle solution. He admits that the problems there are too plentiful to have all the answers for, but he knows that if people would begin investing themselves in the solution, that one family at a time could be transformed. He is starting a non-profit of family to family sponsorship. He does not pay beggers. He pays organizations that help homeless to get off the streets and get jobs. He finds other families in need and helps them to get steady income and thus changing the future for the children in the home and the children's children. He is well intended.

I have been in touch with KB since I have been back. We write back and forth a few times a week, as power allows. He is doing well. He has sponsored a new family. This is his second sponsored family. It is a mother and daughter. The mother is new to Christianity and is a prostitute, though they don't call them that there. She wants out but their prositution is a lot like sex slavery and she must pay to get out. She has to pay 600 birr a month for 7 months to get out. This is impossible for her and that is how they own her. If KB can get her out, KB's family will put her up in housing and take her to church and find her a job. She is willing to do any kind of work that is moral. Jason and I are working with KB to help get her out and sponsoring her out for the first month at the cost of $64. I am not sharing this with you to pat ourselves on the back or to have you think us crazy for trusting in a man "I hardly know", but only to show you how complex the problems are between the food shortages, medical problems, sex slavery, famine, etc... and how impossible it is for them to resolve the problems on their own. I do think KB has something right. If the daughter, Betsolot, grew up with a mother that was a sex slave, what do you think would become of the daughter? If her mother finds a way out and can provide a different example, Betsolot will likely do differently as well. And Betsolot's children will follow that same example. By helping the mother, we have likely saved generations. This will take a lot of personal time and resources from KB and his family, but God bless him for doing it. The money is the small part in the grand scheme of what needs to be done for this family, so we are happy to help where we can. Please lift up mother Tsion and daughter Betsolot in your prayers. They have a long way to go from where they are to where the Lord wants them to be.

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye. Where do I even begin. It was something I did not want to do. I did not know how attached I would become to these children. How could I? It was only in 4 days of which most of them were no more than a few hours of interaction. And yet, I was. Hard to understand as I sit to write, but to this day, three weeks later, there is not a day that goes by that I do not think of them. I still cry tears over them.

The long walk back could have been much longer and I would have been fine with it. The children grabbed their Bibles first thing upon their return and the flashlight pens that they had tied to them (for night time reading during power outages). They all came running up to Kim and I. They were hugging us.

Fikadu broke up the mob and gathered us all into one big circle. With hands held, he asked if I could pray for them. Of course I would not leave without praying over them. I was happy for the formal opportunity. With heads bowed I began thanking God for these amazing children, for the staff that cared for them daily, for the purpose and plan that he had in each child and that the Lord would reveal His purpose and plan to these children. I prayed in thanks for the time, the opportunity, the blessings that they were to us. I prayed for their food, safety and comfort. And as I prayed I fought back tears but they came anyway. My nose ran and I sniffed to try and keep from making an even bigger scene. Many children joined me in my tears. Following my "Amen", Fikadu began praying in Amharic. He, too, began to cry. When we were done praying, the children all began to hug us. We presented Fikadu with a cash gift to use for the orphans and they were beyond grateful. The children clapped.

Each child, one by one, came for a kiss on the cheek and a hug. My girls that drew me pictures and held my hands so often held me so tight. My camera boy could not look me in the eye and sobbed as he held me. I made him look at me in the eyes and promised him I would be back, but no time soon. He held me more.

Many children began to bring us their Bibles and have us write them a message of hope inside the cover page. We did. But we would have been there all night if the kids would have had their way so Fikadu broke it up. We gave our final hugs to Fikadu and left the center. Our hearts were heavy over having to leave. We honestly could not process it all... too many emotions for these fragile hearts to handle.

Gopher Field?

So the children were fed and eager to play. The "football" players and volleyball players were also ready for their chance to show off. Fikadu asked if we were up for the walk and we knew the boys' home was just a 5 minute walk up the street. We also knew they had a big, grass, front yard to play in so readily agreed to go.

The children fought over the opportunity to hold my hand. One boy held my right hand and the girl that usually had it pushed him aside which was quite a feat given her size compared to his. He would not stand for it and pushed back while clenching my hand firmly to insure being shown up like that again would not happen. I shook the children off both of my hands. I told the boy that he was older and that he could play with my camera while she held my hand. He didn't speak much English at all but his eyes lit up as I passed my camera to him. The girl was crying at this point and I bent down to hug her telling her that I had enough love to go around. She held my hand. The usual girl held my other hand. The boy pushed the buttons on my camera to flip through the pictures I had taken so far on the trip. We all began to walk as a group.

As we walked down the emensly rocky road the children would ask me to "sing English". And we would take turns singing songs to eachother. Periodically, they would recognize the tune though the words they did not, and sing the same song in their language. Funny how when languages could devide people that music connects, and ultimatly, God keeps us connected. They love the same Lord that I love. For that reason, there is already a given understanding.

As we walked, the boys home was on the right. But no one was turning into it. I was confused, but went along with the group. Fikadu was walking faster than our hand-holding-string of 5 plus kids. As he passed, I stopped him. I asked if we were going the right way. He said we were. Then, the boy with the camera was SO EXCITED about the camera and kept telling me "thank you" over and over so I was concerned that the boy thought that I had given him the camera. I asked Fikadu to tell him that he was only looking at the pictures. Fikadu did, then looked at me as though I was a bit crazy for thinking that to begin with and shrugged his shoulders while saying, "yeh, he knows." I was relieved and then just amazed that looking at the back of a digital camera was just that special for him.

WE walked. We went passed all the homes. 20 minutes had gone by. We were now headed down a hill with a canal that had been cut through it by the rains. It was grass covered and had power poles here and there. 10 more minutes passed. We were at the bottom and could see "the fields". This was not at all what I had expected. This was an area for grazing and irrigation. Donkeys and cattle were all about. There were no goals, no nets. There were holes from some kind of burrowing animal that were just right to twist an ankle in, and they were everywhere. The kids walked faster as we got closer. They were obviously excited. The boys in the lead began to run to their field and called the best spot as theres. A game of "street home kids" vs "boys home kids" broke out upon our arrival.

At this point, my string of kids was approaching. Some of the staff had taken a seat in the grass to watch the kids play and get off their feet. The boy with my camera handed it back to me, pointed to the camera, then promptly posed on the lawn. I have attached this picture. He had obviously seen this before since he could not have practiced in mirrors that don't exist and it was really cute.

Now a girl I had promised to play volleyball with hit me the ball. The "camera boy" joined in. We bumped the ball back and forth though it was obvious that no one had ever taught them how to do it properly. 3-4 hits without it hitting the ground was a record. We had barely begun playing when a girl I had promised to play soccer with interrupted. Fikadu helped us set up the "playing field" since some cattle were in the more ideal spot to play. I was relieved when he turned our field from end-to-end to side-to-side... this would save me when it came to running. And boy did I run. It was all girls playing and they were surprisingly good. All girls, except my "camera boy". He did not want to play with the boys. He just wanted to be by me. He started as my goalie and then relieved me 20 minutes into it as I found myself gasping for every breath.

We played and played. The staff headed back and we just played. Fikadu was reffing the all boy game and periodically we would hear a cheer. No one from either girl team scored. Kind of funny, huh? The sun was starting to set. The children had not had dinner. Neither had we and we had no fruit or cake because of our "only cooked food" rule. It would be a long walk back.

I had more fun than I can describe. I was a child playing with children. I was in love with their energy. Their smiles. Their willingness to give all that they had, and that was just themselves. I walked back more full than I had been in years. Sad, I know. My children give me themselves every day. So does my husband. But it is not all that they have to give and so it feels different. It is amongst their struggles of "my do" " I want" or "What a day..." and so it feels different. These children were so longing for a mother like figure to play with. To hold their hands. To hug them and tell them how special they are. They valued the time like no child I have ever seen and I valued it because of that, too. I knew that saying goodbye would be near impossible.

On the long walk back, the boy with the camera points behind to Nettie. He says "Netzanette. Go America?" I nodded and said "Yes." He looks down ," I go, with you." My heart broke right there. How could I explain to this child that if I could, I would steal him up right then but that it just wasn't that simple. " I can't. You have to do a lot of papers and pay a lot of money. It is not easy. " I knew his broken English barely caught a word I said but that he knew the answer was no. He just looked down. The girl holding my left hand looked up to me, "Than take me." They just couldn't understand. And I just couldn't explain it to them. How could I explain something that I didn't fully understand myself and I was deeply saddened.

We kept walking. God provided us with a donkey that was peeing right next to us and we all laughed. The kids began to try and teach me words in Amharic. Now that must have been funny because the donkey peeing was just the start of the laughter. Each word started a whole new bound of giggles.

So- I saw their talents. I played with them. I walked with them, talked with them, and loved them. What more can I say?

Festivities and Gifts

When the feasting was done and staff and children were full alike, we announced that we had gifts for them. A box with shiny wrapped gifts was brought front and center and brown curled ribbon adorned each package. The children looked on with excitement. Whatever was in those beautiful packages must be special. Must be worth while... and indeed they were. This would be a gift that we hope would be with them their whole lives and that the same feeling they had when they first saw their first ever wrapped gift, would be the same feeling they would have for this book for their whole lives.

One by one, each child's name was read allowed. The children would chant the chosen child's name while clapping in a slow, rythmic way as the kid would make his/her way to the front. It began to rain. No one cared. The children moved to one side or the other of the hole in the awning above to avoid the water getting on them or their gift while seated. Every child waited to open their gift until all children were called. And all at once, they opened their gifts. The children were pleased. Very pleased. They leafed through their Bibles and held them to their chests. Yes, this was the only personal thing that many of them owned. It was theirs and they had a sense of ownership over it.

In unison "Thank You".

The children then told us that they had something for us. Kim and I sat down on their benches as many children arose. They gathered in front and sang us the most beautiful songs. We loved to see them smile as they sung and moved their bodies to the music in meaningful motions. They sung of Jesus, His great love for them, His healing ways, and His joy. It warmed our hearts.

Next the gymnists arose. The rain had stopped and we all came out from the awning. They boys SCARED me to death as they tumbled down the angled drive, off the edge, onto the dirt and then used a rock as a spring board onto a grass mat. The children and adults gasped and clapped in amazement. They flipped and twisted from place to place and though it was truly amazing, I was shocked to see them all in one piece at the conclusion. I asked Fikadu where they learned such things and was told that it was from watching it on tv. I could only imagine how scary it must have been to watch them teach themselves in such a rough terrain!

The soccer players, vollyball stars, and other athletes were all eager to join in and share their talents. We were invited to the "soccer field" and agreed. We presented them with 6 soccer balls and 4 jump ropes to take along and together, all 64 of us left for the fields. This would be the first time EVER that the cooks came along to the fields and everyone was excited to participate.

Fikadu had the kids all prepared. They knew that this was their day. Many had promised to show us their special skills and talents in days prior and we were just as excited to spend time with the children on a fun and intimate level, as we were in sharing our "gifts" for them.

I greeted the children on Kim's and my behalf. Fikadu translated. The children were smiling and excited to see what was waiting for their snack. Row by row, they were released into the dining hall. I waited at the door to give them a hug and welcome them since we didn't get to at the gate as we normally did. It was funny though, they were so eager to get inside and experience their treats, that most barely made eye contact with me and gave me brief hugs compared to the days prior.

They would grab a plate. Then pick from the fruit. Most took both a banana and an orange. Then the CAKE! Yes, chocolate and vanilla with the fluffiest icing both on top and layered within. It looked and smelled heavenly (though I didn't eat any!). On to the candy table where 2 pieces were selected. The last table would have the first cup of milk these children have seen in months. With their hands full and walking ever so carefully so as not spill from cup or plate, the children would exit out the same door they came. They would be lit like a Christmas tree and find a seat to devour their food.

They dove into their cake with their fingers. No forks, and no care! The would lick the icing from their fingers as they went. And it all went so fast. Most slowed down when it came to peeling their oranges. I tried to help and found myself considering that an American peeling tool wouldn't have even been helpful. It was only a minor stumbling block as the determined children worked to get at the meat of the fruit. There was not much talk as they ate... it was like a race to the finish line. And yet I believe they really did savor every bite.

As I watched on, I found myself fighting back tears. I find myself fighting them now. Cake. Fruit. A couple pieces of hard candy. Milk. So simple, right? For us anyway. For them, most had never had an iced cake before. Most never will again. Most have not had milk in many months, and likely won't again for many more. And most Americans would have pitched the green oranges aside, discounting them because of the extreme effort it took just to get the peel off. For them, nothing was discounted. The plates were virtually licked clean, and the children were full of more sugar than was probably smart on our parts! But boy were they indulged like the special kids that they were and are. I was silent as I watched on in amazement.