Piper is three months old this week, which is certainly something to celebrate. And I think I can say that I am finally physically recovered as well, which is also something to celebrate.

By now, you’ve all read the exciting birth story. Well, about three weeks post-partum we discovered that the incision site was infected. I had been on antibiotics post surgery, so this was surprising. An American/Canadian doctor couple here in town had me come over to take a look. We had a little phone pow-wow with Shannon in Vanga and decided I needed another round of antibiotics.

A few days later I went back to their house and it didn’t look any better, so I began a second type of antibiotics for anaerobic bacteria, since the infection seemed to be under the skin.

I went back two more times that week, and while it did seem to be getting better, it wasn’t quite good enough. Two deep holes had developed, along with a third shallower hole, so the three amazing doctors decided to go with wound packing. Twice a day, my loving husband would pack my wounds with gauze. I still didn’t have feeling at the incision site, but the thought of what was happening (I certainly couldn’t watch) made me cringe every time.

Immediately things started to get better. By six weeks post-partum, the holes were half their size and I was on my way to healing. However, we had been packing the holes for ten days and I was feeling weary of the process (I know it’s minor but still…). I went out to Vanga for a routine post-partum exam and to get the wounds checked.

I clearly had a little PTSD at being back in the operating room, after all that had happened last time. (This was the best space for a proper exam, especially concerning privacy, I wasn’t there for further surgery.) I got a big rush of adrenaline and was shaky, even though nothing was wrong. It was a little surreal. But, things were all going well and Shannon consulted with another doctor who dealt with wounds often.

Of course, when you consult cross-culturally, it can become sort of difficult to decide what advice is recommended or not. In Congo, “wives’ tales” and misinformation sometimes cross paths with medically sound practice, so it can be hard to interpret. Shannon says that for their OB rotation, residents were using medical textbooks from the 60’s, and practicing what they read!

There was talk of reopening the site, cleaning it out, and re-stitching. Or continue packing. But this doctor had another idea: take my antibiotics, grind them, and sprinkle them in the holes. Do this every day until they close.

With much skepticism, we (Shannon and me and Matthew) decided to go with it. It couldn’t hurt and it would certainly be good at getting my entire body off the antibiotics. And you know what? It totally worked. We ground up the pills into a powder and just filled the holes after each shower. (Yes, we found out it comes in a cream form, but we already had the pills, so why not.) It was much easier than packing and the holes healed very quickly.

Side story, when Shannon and I were done with the exam and headed out, I looked through a pass-through window into the operating room where Piper was delivered. A visiting orthopedic surgeon was performing surgery on a young man, with his lower half behind a drape. This surgeon, an American, heard me speaking to Shannon in English and said “Hi!” I glanced back and said hello. I vaguely noticed the hack saw in a surgery assistant’s hand. This made more sense a moment later when the doctor asked me “Do you want a leg?” And held up the patient’s badly gangrenous, but newly severed leg. Medical humor…

So, now I am healed and everything is at its new normal (you can’t say “back to normal” after having a baby…there is no such thing). We are praising God for good healing, even with setbacks, and for knowledgeable doctors both here and elsewhere to take time and help.

As any missionary (or expat) will tell you, you say goodbye often in this line of work. People come and go and few stay for the same length of time as you, at the same time. You have people who have been in place for years, but it’s time for them to retire. You have people who are new and it isn’t a good fit. You have people who are moved from one place to another without a say in when. And you all pass each other. Each phase is a season and you learn, via the sink or swim method, to enjoy each season for what it is and know that the next new season is around the corner, whatever it may be.

This week has included a lot of goodbyes. Most are temporary, thankfully, and a few are unknown. I guess, the reality is, they are all unknown, because plans change and Congo can change, too. But, by the end of this week, it will be just us and one other MAF family here in the city…and they leave next week. Vacations, rest furloughs, or longer furloughs were all on the menu for this summer and fall, which oddly leaves us alone for some time (there are people returning just after the last leaves). Other missionaries and expats are also somehow due for breaks at the same time, or they are returning stateside for other reasons, like licensing and job commitments there. So, we have a rather vanilla “summer” looming for the next two months. The good news is that we have plenty to do and work to keep us busy.

Matthew has a few projects at work* that he will now take the time to focus on during the lull of people. The kids and I have six weeks of school to wrap up, since we took lots of time off during the “traditional” months for moving and Piper’s birth, so home life will stay mostly the same, minus the social dates we had once in a while.

This time of year is the best weather, in my opinion, so we are content to be able to enjoy that. It is much cooler and drier. Instead of 95F and ridiculous humidity, it’s more like a mild summer or even fall. Today I was almost chilly! So, I like sticking around this time of year just to be able to live life without as much sweat.

Of course, not EVERYONE is leaving. There are a few sticking around and we hope to take the opportunity to get to know them a bit more. We also will be keeping an eye on the political situation on the ground. This election year is not setting up like it was supposed to, but so far there have been few problems and we hope that continues.

So, as we say good bye, even if only temporary, please be in prayer for our team as they travel, for the ministries here in Congo as they might have limited flight services, and for other issues as they might crop up. So far, we are enjoying our time and are nearing our one-year mark here in Kinshasa! It’s gone by so quickly! And, before we know it, it will be our turn for a little break. And, of course, as people return, we will be able to assist with resettling and we get to welcome a new MAF family coming fresh from language school in France in early August. They have three kiddos the same genders and ages as our oldest three, so we look forward to new friendships.

Thank you for your prayers, now and as we continue.

*I call it work, because his job within MAF operates much like any other typical job. He leaves early in the morning, gets home in the late afternoon, and has office hours (minus Congo irregularities). To some, you probably didn’t notice the verbage used, because it’s so natural. To others, our ministry and life as missionaries looks oddly similar to life in the US, because of the type of ministry we do here and because we are in a big city.

Today was a hard day.  It was challenging in every way.  Nothing specific, nothing big, but all together, it made for a rough day.

I don’t like to post about the hard days, not because I’m afraid of seeming weak or imperfect, but because we (Matthew and I) do not dwell on the hard days.  We are not struggling, as a general statement.  So, if I tell you about a bad day, I don’t want it to be misinterpreted that we are having a bad time, or that we have nothing positive to write about.  It was just a difficult day.

I also wonder if some might see a post about a bad day and wonder if we’re trying to say, “look at us and all this suffering we’re doing!  For Jesus, ya’ll!”  Because that’s not it.  In fact, I don’t think our hard day would be better if we weren’t here, if we weren’t missionaries.  Hard days are universal to the human experience and part of living in a fallen world.  It would definitely be for different reasons – and telling you about the hard days can help you pray more specifically for us.

So, as the hard moments continued to pile on our shoulders today, as I sat crying in the hallway because I was completely undone at that moment and our house worker had to tell me the lunch I was heating was actually burning, I wasn’t a goner…I was just having a hard moment.  Because, I wasn’t crying about the fact that my house is awesome, the power has been great this week thus the air conditioning has been working, or that for this brief moment the baby was sleeping and the other three were getting along.  I can SEE those amazing positives and appreciate them, despite the crying.

But in that moment that necessitated tears on the floor, I was drowning, temporarily, in the stress of having forgotten to get smaller bills in time to pay our workers (because, mommy brain), or that I had to scold a worker for eating food he wasn’t invited to eat from our kitchen, or because the children HAD been fighting with each other, or because in my readiness for a Saturday break from the normal daily grind of stay-at-home mom during the week, my husband was called out to take a fellow missionary to the hospital.

I also can’t dwell on the bad days because I look around and it only takes about two milliseconds to realize that my first world problems, while they are completely valid, are really small compared to my neighbors who daily must negotiate buying food, staying healthy, and maintaining a safe place to sleep at night.

I can be stressed and annoyed by the worker who is suddenly demanding special pay, because his expressed entitlement to “my” money butt up against my cultural norm, but at the same time, how can I justify being cranky because he needs money for his children’s education and what does he have to lose by being persistent about it?  Add this to a dozen other cultural differences and the day just got more challenging.

So, as I sit here, typing all of this with one hand because Piper is fussy and hasn’t stopped crying or nursing despite all of my tricks for the last five hours and Matthew is still not home and won’t be for a while…I am ready for today to be done.  But I look forward to the new mercies promised to me in the morning, even if that means another rough day grateful for the grace I know I was showered with today, and prepared to ask for continued prayer because I know we need it, even though most of our days aren’t all that rough.

This is a fun photo, as it is the two most recent MAF babies born in Vanga.  Sure, there is an 18 year gap between them, but it’s fun to have them together for a couple of months.  Lydia is graduating in June and headed off to college this summer. 

Today marks one week since we got home from Vanga, the village where Piper was born.  The week has zoomed by, but each day has felt particularly long.  While I recover from the c-section, Matthew has been running quite ragged.  In addition to needing to take over most of the duties around the other three kids, our house’s owner has regained momentum in finishing a lot of the work needing done on the exterior.  However, here, if work is being done, it’s better done with supervision, so Matthew has been involved in helping and advising as necessary.  We are grateful, though, that the projects are back in full swing.  The barbed wire along the top of the wall is almost done, and we now have more water storage (we were running out daily, since the water only comes in at night).  A problem with some sewage pipes was repaired.  And the work has begun on the outdoor kitchen (yes, we’re spoiled!).  I do mean to do a “house tour” at some point…I haven’t forgotten.  We are in a rich season with this house – it is the nicest house we’ll probably ever live in, no matter the location, and we’re trying to enjoy each day we get to live here, even when it’s annoying to have a dozen workers outside needing your husband’s attention.  But at least he’s been able to be home and not needed immediately back at the office, though phone calls and emails have been part of his day, too.

Meanwhile, I have had days when I feel really great and on my way back to normal…then I forget about the major surgery I just had and overdo it and set myself back.  I’m really terrible at being still.  Today, though, I really was doing so much better, but twisted wrong and have been in the most pain since leaving Vanga!  Ugh!  I do not learn, I guess.  I hear that you get decent pain meds in the US if you have a c-section (or any surgery), but here ibuprofen and Tylenol have been my friends.  I will try again to take it easy, but as we approach a new week, Matthew needs to go in a couple of days this week and I will need to find balance.  Our team has been very helpful and we are grateful for their assistance.

So, please continue to pray for my healing…and my patience!  And pray for Matthew as he balances so many different hats, all on his head at the same time.  Levi, Amelia, and Axel are adjusting well, but it has been stressful for them to have me down.  Or it seems that way.  They do enjoy the work being done outside, like today when huge loads of sand and gravel were delivered for the outdoor kitchen, Levi and Axel made friends all over the place and “helped” move the piles from the dump truck.  It’s a fun distraction and Levi chatters at them in French, so it’s good practice.

Thank you for remembering our family in your prayers!

Piper’s birth story is unlike my other three, for a multitude of reasons.  Obviously, the location is probably the biggest difference – being in an African jungle village at a rural hospital, even though it is one of the best hospitals in the country, is a huge contrast.  But there was also the necessity of timing, the type of care, etc.  So Piper’s story is unique.  And I want to share it with you, because it is a GREAT story with the best of endings.  However, I want you to read it with the understanding that it is our story and while it is easy for us to think there might have been a “better” outcome or “easier” method, as we reflected on this birth, Matthew, Shannon (my OB), and I all agree that we would have done nothing differently.  Not one thing.  So, we can rest in the confidence that this story is what it was meant to be in the context we had.  We are very content in seeing God’s provision throughout the day of Piper’s birth and the days following, even if it meant some of the greatest challenges the three of us (Matthew, me, and Shannon) have ever faced.

Easter Sunday was here and baby was not.  The plane coming to get us would be here Saturday.  The option was there to change Shannon’s plane ticket leaving the country (she will be attending a CMDA – Christian Medical and Dental Association – conference beginning Monday in Greece, something all missionary medical professionals are encouraged to attend as a family), but it seemed to be far less logical than simply inducing labor.  Yes, inducing labor is a major decision.  But the fact was, I had been having some contractions, but nothing significant.  Dilation had been progressing when we first arrived but had stopped, so we weren’t sure when baby was coming.  And I was getting increasingly uncomfortable – the heat and humidity, combined with carrying totally out front was getting old.  I was done.  So, we made the decision to induce Tuesday morning, hoping that natural labor would come sooner.

Clearly, it didn’t.  Tuesday morning at 5:30 we walked over to the hospital.  We wanted to start the induction early hoping birth would be before the hottest time of day.  It was feasible to then get back to the house within a few hours, much like I did with Amelia’s birth – I was home two hours after the birth center.  The nurses had set up the IV and Shannon had readied a bed in a private space that is going to be the maternity operating room, but for now was just a private space behind the delivery room.  It would also help prevent some curious onlookers wanting to see how the white lady was doing.

The nurses were all very sweet, especially nurse Jacqueline, who Shannon calls “Madame Blueberry” because she is short and wide and very jolly.  She got my IV started and the pitocin began dripping.  I had a few light contractions over the next two hours, but nothing to write home about.  We hung out in the room, talked, stared at our phones…the usual (thanks to MAF for having wifi).  Around 8:30 the contractions became more intense and regular, about three minutes apart.  We were so excited for progress.  I had dilated just a bit and was excited that things were going right on course.

Around ten the pitocin bag had run out, so we checked dilation again and saw progress!  6cm!  The head had descended a little and contractions were still strong, so we decided to brake my water and hope that this would simulate the rest of labor to happen naturally, without a new bag of pitocin.  Baby’s heartbeat was doing well, so we were still confident things were going smoothly.

I took a nap for about 40 minutes while Shannon went home to feed her baby.  Sadly, I didn’t have a single contraction, but just some minor abdominal pain.  So, we got pitocin started again and the contractions started right up and were even more intense.  But then things began to feel off.  The contractions felt strong, painful – all normal.  But between them I began to experience abdominal pain, which was emphasized every time my belly was touched, like when trying to hear baby’s heartbeat.  As the contractions got stronger and longer, the pain in between them increased as well.  After about two hours, I realized that this was no longer a normally progressing labor.  I was loosing steam and no longer able to cope with the pain.  I also couldn’t stand the pain from the touch of the heartbeat monitor.  I was in more pain between the contractions, than during them.

We checked dilation again, because usually when a laboring mom says she can’t handle the pain any longer, it is transition and labor is almost done.  However, I was still just 8cm and baby’s head was still too high to began pushing.  At this point, Shannon grabbed the portable ultrasound machine and began to set it up.  During the set up process I went downhill – I have unfocused memories of unbearable pain, broken up by painful contractions (the pitocin had been stopped at this point).  In other words, I needed to get on the examining table so Shannon could check on the baby, which was almost more than I could bear.  The pain from the ultrasound touching my abdomen caused me to begin to go into shock.  I asked (via yelling and crying) to be done.  Was it time to call for a C-section?

Now to back up to 12 days prior, the day after we arrived in Vanga.  Shannon was helping a laboring woman.  This was her fourth baby and she had needed to be induced.  Things were going well, when suddenly she had severe abdominal pain.  As she labored, her uterus burst and the baby was lost.  Here, uterine rupture is often caused by a long time of malnutrition.  But, her symptoms were mirrored in what Shannon was seeing with me.  I wasn’t, and had never been, malnourished, but the pain I was experiencing was not within the normal limits of labor.  This is difficult to explain and to process, and Shannon, because I am her friend, did want to make a medical decision based on her fears and emotions, but she also wanted to recognize some red flags based on a recent, extremely unfortunate case.  So she called in a good friend and trusted doctor to help make the call.  He agreed, a C-section was the best course of option, because the risk wasn’t worth it.

At this point, things kicked into high gear and the operating room was called.  The lab was contacted.  A stretcher was demanded.  And I was only slightly aware of anything besides the pain and the promise that I would soon be out of pain and baby would be safe.

I was given a shot to stop contractions.  The lab showed up, but the poor nervous phlebotomist struggled to take my blood to check my hemoglobin (for anemia).  There is a lot of pressure, since white patients are seen as high ranking, even though I do not consider myself special, culturally that is not the case.  He stuck me twice and eventually had to just poke my finger.  This is a rural village hospital – everything is done with a straight needle and syringe, including the finger poke.  I was catheterized in preparation for surgery.  This may have caused some swearing.  That hurts.  On top of everything else, especially.  But we were still waiting for the stretcher.  I remember hearing Matthew and Shannon yelling (and yelling in French is somehow more demanding).  I remember a strong sense of urgency.  And I remember sometimes just wanting to drift asleep.

The decision was made to use the rudimentary wheel chair to get me to the OR, since the stretcher still hadn’t appeared.  Again, a village hospital is a series of cinderblock buildings, connected by an open sidewalk.  So, I was wheeled outside and down a bumpy sidewalk to the OR (salle d’op, in French, which I think is rather catchy).  The wheels got stuck on a lot of holes.  The drape got caught more than once.  I remember Matthew trying to get me to talk…but I couldn’t.

I was wheeled into the OR and lifted onto the table as all my clothing was taken off.  They got my IV hooked into ketamine.  The initial plan was a spinal (not an epidural, they do not have those here) but things were too urgent to wait.  The anesthesiologist got me started on a drip, but Shannon wanted more, faster, to get me under so she could get started.  I remember knowing that things were rushed, and the anesthesiologist saying I was almost out and to get started, it was okay, I was ready.  However, I was still yelling and moaning from the pain.  Obviously, Shannon was not convinced I was ready, but was more concerned with the baby (who was fine, but we wanted her to stay that way, of course).

This part of the story may be disturbing, but personally, honestly, I think it’s actually awesome.  Not many people can say they’ve felt the start of surgery – the first cut of the scalpel – and think that it is a neat thing to experience.  But, that is how I feel.  I felt that first cut, I really did.  And, under the last conscious influence of the ketamine, I made sure to shout that between yelling that I was in pain.  However, yelling that I felt the slice of the knife was very unnerving for Shannon, as she was helping, but in a sense, hurting her friend.  She said it was the most difficult things she has ever done, to make that second slice, knowing that I had felt the first.  You guys, Shannon is literally my hero.  She did what few of us could, and professionally made decisions even when emotionally they felt impossible to follow through on.

After that I remember whiteness, then something between Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and The Matrix.  That’s really the only way I can describe anything that happened.  It also felt like hours.  I was awake again about 40 minutes later, though the fog took a few hours to clear.

Matthew sat in the operating room and watched.  Shannon said Piper began to cry before she was even out.  She lifted her out and handed her straight to Matthew to begin skin-to-skin.  I guess there’s one advantage to a non-sterile operating room (the operation itself was performed under sterile conditions, don’t worry).  She checked for signs of imminent uterine damage, but there weren’t any.  Then she gave Matthew a tour of my insides, which I’m a bit jealous of, actually, before closing me up.  Nerds.

I began to awake to the sounds of Piper crying and asked, apparently, 20 times if it was a girl.  Actually, I gave Shannon and Matthew a good laugh as to all the things I said and how I said them.  I’m glad they were both too busy to record any of it.  Ha ha.  We have had several laughs about my wake up process.

I was wheeled back to the room, and remember seeing the blue sky and sun on the way, where a new bed was waiting for me (this was thanks to Shannon’s doctor friend who made sure an actual bed was brought in – I had been on a stack of comfy mattresses, but the bed was higher and better for me to get in and out of).  The pain was done (well, that much and that type of pain, anyway…I had major surgery, of course).  The baby was here and we were both well.

At some point, Levi, Amelia, and Axel were brought over to meet their new sibling.  I was still pretty out of it and they were pretty scared of how out of it I was, but I’m glad they got to see her so fresh.

We spent the night in the hospital, listening to a soccer match outside (yay, Congo won) and the thunder.  Piper nursed well and I watched the lightening bugs dance around the room.

The next day was the normal busy-ness of post-op.  IV drips, everybody gets checked.  Everybody wants to see the white baby.  But at the same time it was restful and peaceful after such an eventful day.  Finally, it was time to go home.  I was wheeled out of the hospital and walked the last bit to the waiting vehicle, with Ryan, Shannon’s husband, waiting to drive us home in the mission vehicle.  The crowd of curious well-wishers was so sweet.  They were very excited about Piper.

That evening at the house, Matthew and the kids ate dinner (I think I ate something, but don’t really remember).  I showered and felt awesome!  It had been very hot (though I honestly don’t remember…I was distracted by something, I guess).

As we were tucking in for bed, Piper began to get fussy and didn’t want to nurse.  We realized she felt hot and found a temporal thermometer (forehead).  It read 101F, so we called Shannon.  Piper cried unconsolably, but within half an hour, Shannon was there, along with the pediatrician, who is a German monk that has worked in Vanga a long time, and two pediatric nurses.  They assessed that Piper probably had the start of some sort of infection an the best course of action was to knock it out with a strong antibiotic, so she got her own IV that matched mine (for follow up antibiotics).  She was fine and we had another night of easy nursing and sleeping.  One of the pediatric nurses slept on the couch just in case things had not gone so smoothly.  We later learned that the thermometer we had used was not really the most reliable, but perhaps prompted an “overzealous” response that really saved a small problem from turning into a bigger one – again, we see God’s provision.

The next two days were just healing, nursing, rounds of antibiotics for Piper and me, and sleeping.  It was a lot cooler and the kids mostly behaved and played outside with the yard workers.

Saturday morning we (Matthew) packed and got ready to head home.  It was raining, so it was almost cool, which was nice, but it did delay the plane just a little.

The flight home was uneventful and smooth, with Piper sleeping and eating for most of it.  We shared a flight with the Potter family (Shannon’s family) and Friedhelm, the pediatrician, since the medical conference begins Monday and everyone had flights out of Kinshasa on Sunday.  It was a full, but happy plane ride.

So arriving home was very chaotic and busy, not having been home in two and a half weeks, plus arriving home with Shannon’s family and her parents being guests for the night – it was great to have extra hands to help with everything, but also busy.  We had disconnected our water pump and batteries to keep them safe, so those needed hooked up.  The neighborhood power, we had been told, was awful while we were gone, so we assessed our fridge and freezer, but our guards assured us that our power had been fairly regular and we found all of our food to be good – we are praising God for this blessing!  The house had been maintained in good order by our worker, Jean, Maman Cele had made dinner for us that afternoon, and Tasha, an MAF wife (and perhaps others), had arranged to have some baby supplies that had arrived with visitors while we were gone to already be in our living room.  There was also a counter-full of snacks and veggies.  What a blessing to be surrounded by this village also!

So we had 24 hours with our dear friends who are essentially family.  Last night Shannon was able to remove the bandage and we saw my incision for the first time.  Actually, that’s not true, I can’t actually see the incision at all.  She did an amazing job.  Again, she is my new hero.

Today we ventured out to the grocery store and for some Nice Cream (the best ice cream, really), but I am paying for it now in pain.  No narcotics here, so ibuprofen and tylenol and I are staying close friends for now.

Piper is doing well with nursing – my best nurser thus far – and I am praising God for this part of the process being easy, since nursing has been difficult in the past.

The last piece of the puzzle is the amazing blessing of having Shannon’s parents here during this time.  They stepped in and became honorary grandparents for the entire time we were in the hospital and the days that followed, tackling all three kids, plus their own grandkids, plus preparing for their travel home after six weeks.  Leon and Jeanne – you two are awesome and we are so grateful for everything!

So, that is our story.  We are well and praising God for weaving an adventurous story to begin Piper’s life outside the womb.

(There are a couple of pictures but not on my devices, so they will have to wait.)

Piper Caroline Lind was born on Tuesday, March 29, at 2:35pm in Vanga, a village about an hour and a half by MAF plane east of Kinshasa, DR Congo.  She weighed 8lb 9.5oz and was 20 inches long.  Her birth story is an amazing one and we will share that soon. 
  

We live in a city.  For some reason that I cannot explain, this has really been emphasized in my heart lately.  We are not the African missionaries who visit around their village or are well-known.  We don’t even stand out all that much, because there are a lot of white people here.  So, if you picture us living in a fairly rural or isolated environment, I hope I’m about to change that view to something a little more accurate.

Then again, maybe you’re thinking, no, of course, Kinshasa is a big, capital city, so you have everything a city would have: infrastructure, organized layout, systems running smoothly, and the little things, like a movie theater or fast food.  We have none of that.  We have almost daily power outages because the electrical grid is toast.  The power surge the other night so far has cost us over $400 in repairs and replacements.  We have water that only comes in at night…and many parts of the city are lacking water at all.  Our sewer system is a septic one, because there really isn’t a city-wide one, minus downtown.  And everything else is hit or miss, like public transportation.  It exists, sometimes, but it’s complicated.

So, what do I want to talk about this for?  Because it means that what our life and ministry looks like here is wide-ranging and often difficult to define.  We recently heard that in Kinshasa alone, there are several unreached people groups – people who do not have access to the Gospel, or anyone ministering to them.  But guess what, in most cases these people groups are not Congolese.  They are other ex-pats, who live here, especially in the city, in such large numbers, that they show up on the radar of groups who analyze unreached people groups (think Wycliff, for example).  Here in town, we have large populations of Chinese and Lebanese, who are performing critical business.  The Chinese build roads and high-rises downtown.  The Lebanese own many stores and shops – including most of where I shop for groceries and where Matthew shops for hardware and supplies.

Essentially, ministry in this city can be however you feel God leading you.  For us, Matthew has a full time job at MAF, so obviously that is where he spends much of his time, but he has befriended several hardware shop owners and business men in the process.  I am at home with the kids and keeping house, but my monthly grocery trip, for example, leads me to the same store owners who know me, at least a little…and they know that I’m far too pregnant to be waddling around their store any longer (I was offered a lot of help during my last shopping run).  Don’t worry, storekeepers, next time I’ll have a baby in tow.

But there are other things about living in such a large city, like the fact that ex-pats who are here because they have government or other organizational jobs that place them here, have a whole community unto themselves.  Matthew and I recently joined the British Embassy’s Oasis Club.  For a yearly fee, we are able to go to events and hang out at their lovely, quite literal Oasis.  We have spent a few date nights there, able to watch movies in a large format (even an American one: The Martian).  We have been able to spend other date nights trying some of the cool restaurants in town.  Kinshasa has great food if you know where to find it.  For our final date night last week before baby arrives, we went to Sir Harry’s, which specializes in Chinese, Indian, and Thai food.  You sit on an open terrace on the sixth floor and get to gaze out at the city and even across the river to Brazzaville, the capital of the other Congo.  It was a lovely escape and a good time to be together.  We feel fortunate to have these opportunities, knowing our fellow African missionaries, who live out in villages, can’t do the same things.

Kinshasa is actually a really cool city if you dig deep, but on its surface it struggles.  And the media generally reports only what sells: the shock and the negative.  Recently, this article gives an excellent look into the dichotomy of Kinshasa and how wide the gap between the wealthy and the poor truly is here.  I would love if you took the time to read through it, to better understand our city.

But if you’re more for facts and figures, Kinshasa is in the top 20 of the largest cities in the world, by population.  Try as I might, I could not find a definite number, because of the various ways of measuring and because the specific population of Kinshasa is not known (it was last counted in the 1980’s and was not necessarily accurate even then).  The article cited above says that roughly 390,000 people come into Kinshasa every year from around Congo.  “It is as if, each year, the capital swallowed an entire mid-sized city.”  But we do not have the infrastructure here to support any of the growth, or even the current population.  Yet, we are the third largest city in Africa.

It is also a very expensive city in which to live.  Mercer calculates the cost of living as being the 13th highest in the world.  While we do our best to live reasonably and frugally, it is still sometimes a challenge to figure out where and how to find the balance.

And that pretty much sums up the struggle with living here: balance.  How do we balance being so rich when surrounded by poverty?  We cannot stoop to join it, nor is our wealth wrong.  How can we balance living out the ministry that God has called us to, but also power through difficult situations with finding the balance of keeping our sanity: things like date nights and family trips for ice cream, and vacations, so we can stay the course and be healthy?  How do we report to all of you, who are praying for us, interested in our life here, and even supporting us financially to be here, with an accurate picture of life here?  We want to give you as much information as possible so you feel involved in our ministry and life, and do so in a way that makes sense.  But it’s very hard to explain why life here is different and hard if you haven’t been or experienced it.  But it’s also difficult to explain why we like it here or feel at home here, if you only see how life is difficult.

So, essentially, we love our city, and we struggle to make life make sense here, because often nothing makes sense.  And that is the exciting life in Kinshasa, Congo.

This is not a typical day.  But it’s not extraordinary, either.  It was just a day.  But, if you ever wanted an example of why your missionary friends might be tired or stressed, it is because of days like this.  Days that are not everyday, but are also not uncommon.  It just is…a day.

Monday, we ran out of water around noon.  You see, the water from the city only comes in at night, but every once in a while we skip a night.  It’s really a matter of planning and storage.  We have some water storage, but only enough for a simple day (not a day where we all five bathe, do laundry, cook, clean, and water the garden).  We will be getting more storage in place very soon, so the problem is temporary.  We currently have a back up tank on the ground that we can pump into our house water storage – our household water storage is up on a tower, to allow for gravity flow, though we have a 12v pump and batteries so we always have great water pressure…unless we’re out of water, of course.

So, water is complicated, but not really once you’re used to it.

Okay, fine, we’re good without water for a few hours.  What sort of missionaries would we be without that skill?  This was not really a big deal by itself

So, I paused my laundry endeavor and welcomed my new twice-a-week household helper, who will come to help with some domestic chores (in additional to the help I have with dishes and cleaning), which will be lovely once baby arrives.  The best part, she is our nanny from our first year here!  She has since been working hard for several other families, including two MAF families, and has, up until now, been too busy for me to hire her.  She is so great and has since been trained to do so much more, especially cooking.  It was her first day.  She ironed, and changed the kids’ sheets, and made mashed potatoes for the dinner I had planned.  And I look forward to a few less chores when trying to juggle a new baby on top of everything.  (If “everything” still seems a bit suspect, as if I’m potentially being lazy, please continue reading…)

Matthew came home early to continue the work on our brakes for our big yellow car.  Since there is no auto parts store around, sometimes it’s a matter of taking things apart and finding the little parts – or sending someone to go searching in the booths for you.  So, as he was putting things back together, the clamp broke.  Okay, that project is done and must wait for another day…again.  (This is a whole story in itself, really, of how long it takes to repair something in Congo.)

We enjoyed a lamb roast for dinner…not a typical dinner, but sometimes you just need a meat and potatoes dinner, and lamb is readily available here.  Except that as we sat down, there was a knock on our door.  Just one of our workers who had come to drop off a car part for an MAF vehicle Matthew is repairing.  It does seem that someone always comes as we sit down to dinner.

We were getting the kids to bed when the lights flickered.  Our guard said there was a fire in the line outside.  So, Matthew cut the power to the house so we didn’t have any problems up the line and we waited.  We did a few things around the house, grateful for our batteries that keep our lights on and our fridge and freezer running.

But, we were a little discouraged that by 9pm the power was still lower (coming in at 50 volts, instead of the normal 220v), and shut off the fridge and freezer to conserve battery power for the night.  We crawled into bed and it was hot and still.  It was too quiet and stuffy for me to sleep well the first half of the night.

But of course, by the time I actually fell asleep, one child also decided it was too hot and stuffy and dark and quiet to stay asleep.  So, I was awake at 4am and unable to get back to sleep.  Not really a great start to a day…especially one that was hot and no power all night for the first time since moving was not a good sign for the day to come.

As soon as there was light, I had our guard call our power guy.  This guy supposedly works for the power company, but those lines are blurry as well.  Also, he looks a lot like the main pirate from Captain Phillips, so there’s a bit of that going on.  But, he comes out and repairs the line a few hours later and stops by to say that he was able to put the strips of cut plastic bag around the burnt line but needed money for the “scotch” (tape).  Yep, that’s a Congo power line repair.  220v flowing through burnt metal, plastic bag, and tape (not necessarily electrical tape, either).  It may or may not be buried in the sand along the street.  More likely, it buried only a few inches in…waiting for a big rain to wash it back to the surface.  So I gave him the $10 he needed, knowing full well tape was not that much, but I just wanted my power back and was happy he was here and had brought power with him.

We had been able to manage school and something like lunch (okay, a lot of snacking) and my veggie guy came by.  Oh and my veggie lady who normally comes on Tuesdays, came by a day early.  Surprise.  And I was so hot and uncomfortable in a general sort of way (yay late pregnancy).  But, then the power came back and I relaxed under the air conditioner, grateful that Axel had easily gone down for a nap and Amelia, who had been up since 4am, was at least resting quietly in her room.  And we had water.

The afternoon was relatively low key and made the day feel less chaotic.  But then evening hit.

The power went out again around 4pm.  But it appeared that it was bigger than just our little section.  I was able to confirm this as the sun went down and I looked out over the neighborhood (we’re on just a little hill) and saw nothing but blackness, speckled in a few lights thanks to generators.

Matthew had finished working on the breaks and was outside in the yard as it grew dark, so he turned on the generator to turn on our yard lights (not connected to the batteries).  I got the kids washed and heard the generator sputter out of fuel.  Yay for the battery lights and I was able to finish the bedtime routine.  Moments after getting them tucked in, the house went dark.  Utter blackness.  The batteries, having not had much time to charge over the last 24 hours, threw in the towel…and we were out of generator gas.  I grabbed a flashlight and went outside, where Matthew had just come back from a test run of the brakes (which worked great).

He climbed back in the car and ran down to the gas station for more generator gas.  Of course, while he was gone, the power came back on (it had been out for about four hours at this point).  Because the outage this time was the normal power sharing.  Half-day outages are very normal and the city swaps times of day for power.

So, we went to bed, grateful the day was over and the power was on for the night…

But then the power surged sometime in the night.  When we woke up in the morning, two dejuncters (the little boxes protecting our air conditioners from power surges) were dead, thus the air conditioners were also out of commission.  But the power surge (which we discovered was over 400v) had taken a greater victim…our washing machine.  We were planning on buying a voltage regulator TODAY, one day too late.

Matthew still might have some tricks to confirm, but as far as we can tell, the poor thing fried.  And after a weekend short of water, and the first half of the week short on power, my laundry is a bit piled up.  And as I look ahead to the next seven days before we leave for Vanga, well, that’s not really awesome.

But so far today, besides two dead dejuncters and a possibly dead washing machine, I am grateful for so many things.  Like the fact that today is the day we have a worker who is able to go out and buy things like dejuncters, another voltage regulator, and a few more car parts.  The fact that the power is actually on at the moment, so it’s not unbearably hot.  Also, there was an epic rain storm last night that cooled everything down just a touch.  The wonderful fact that someone posted a perfect washing machine for sale yesterday on the local buy-and-sell Facebook group and it’s still available and currently marked as ours.  And tonight is our last date night before baby…that is definitely something to look forward to.

So, if you think this post is complaining about how life is hard or at least harder than yours, I’m afraid you missed the point.  I’m not complaining or comparing at all.  I’m merely sharing that some days are complicated and hard and normal life doesn’t always happen in the way we wish…no matter where you live or what factors add to the complication.  The above are my complicating factors.

But, this, too, is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it…and maybe be a bit sweaty, too.