Snakes, snails and puppy dog tails
That's what little boys are made of

Sugar, spice, and everything nice
That's what little girls are made of

Is it a boy?

It is a girl?

What do you think?

The answer:

None of the above.

It's an appendix.

Which, after this harrowing weekend, Kevin no longer has.

Let me first preface this story by saying that we are SO thankful for Father's provision. The medical care was much better than I expected, and with the help of a lot of friends, we never once felt at a disadvantage with the language. So feel free to read on without a nagging feeling in your stomach that fears for Kev's life.

It all started on Friday morning when Kev was complaining of a little bit of stomach pain. We assumed it was the same ol' thing that happens rather frequently when you live overseas, especially in light of the fact that Kevin had eaten spicy local food the night before. After lunch, he went to bed, hoping he could sleep it off.

Within a few hours, things were certainly not slept off! The pain was worse, the groans were louder, and I had no idea what to do for my guy. I certainly didn't want to fall into the category of hypochondriac where every headache is a brain tumor and every stomach cramp is appendicitis. But you just can't be too careful with these things...

After consulting some American doctors and everyone's hero WebMD, our other American friends in our city & I decided it best to take Kev to the ER. Without a car of my own, this of course proved to be a bit of a challenge for several reasons:

1) how exactly do you say hospital?
2) how do I explain to the cab driver that he needs to go back inside my apartment complex to pick up my husband who can't even walk?
3) what do I do if there are no cabs?

All of these proved to be a challenge when a cab driver did in fact reject me after I told him I needed to go to the hospital. On cab #2, words of some manner came out of my mouth, and he indeed went to pick up Kevin and delivered us to the hospital. Perhaps I accidentally said something along the lines of "Please drive like a crazy maniac" because he certainly did.

As you can imagine, hospitals here are not like back home. You have to pay for every test before it's done, and your friends/family members play the role of hospital nurse/orderly/lab technician. We nabbed a hospital bed in the hallway and rolled poor Kev all over the place as they did various tests on him. Our favorite was the ultrasound, where Kevin had lucidity enough to ask the tech in our new language if he was pregnant. Her response: "Oh humor."

While Kevin was having his blood drawn, I had to step out of the room for a bit to collect my emotions and to keep from passing out. I figured an emotional breakdown or a collapsed wife wouldn't really contribute to the situation. So there I am, trying not to cry, when what do I see? A man (a really dirty man mind you) making his way through the ER with a wheelbarrow full of rocks. Big rocks. Really dusty rocks. Never in America...

They finally diagnosed the problem, and Kev was whisked away to surgery around 10 PM. By 11:30 PM we were in the recovery room. On Saturday afternoon, we were moved to a private room (which was really more like a deluxe sweet, complete with leather couches, a private bathroom, and a mini-kitchen) and we got to go home on Monday afternoon.

Overall, we were visited by 13 local friends, 5 Americans, and 3 kiddos. We received 24 juice boxes of milk, 15 oranges, one bouquet of flowers, one box containing 12 cans of gruel (the literal translation), one loaf of bread, two pastries, and four cucumbers. If the gifts alone don’t convince you of what an interesting experience this was, then perhaps next time you need your appendix out, you should head to our side of the world!

A Rose By Any Other Name

...is still as sweet. A dumpling by any other name is still just a dumpling.

Forgive my lack of enthusiasm over dumplings but I'm just not a big fan. The ginger-y/pork-y/weird-unidentifiable-green-vegetable-y taste just doesn't do a lot for me. Kevin likes them though.



But despite their unappetizing appeal (to me at least), they sure are fun to make! Gigi taught me how to make them recently. These people are so amazing at working with dough. Her's were a thousand times better looking than mine. Here's looked like dumplings; mine looked like a squashed version of a turkey. Even after you rolled everything up and cooked it in the boiling water, you could still tell which ugly ones were the products of my Western hands.

The best part is that she let me eat just one and then laughed when I excused myself to have a salad for lunch instead. Why exactly did I move to this country when I really don't care for the food? Well, there is a reason and I hope you know what it is!

Don't you think I need one of these?

I think I do. Let's try to convince Kevin, ok?

My New Friend

I made a new friend today. Well, sort of...

Here's the deal: after my morning runs, I like to stretch at the make-shift playground that's right in front of my apartment building. Now mind you, as it is in most places around this country, I am far from alone. My company usually includes grandmothers who can kick their toes to their nose drill-team style and other such folk who are in the mood for a morning workout.

When I show up, I can create quite a stir among the crowd. They like to talk to me, (talk about me is more accurate) and comment on how great my language is.

(A short aside...They don't really mean it. They really and truly say it to everyone. You can open your mouth for .5 seconds, say hello in local language, and they'll go on for a while about how great your language is. Anyone of you could do it too. Promise. So seriously, I'm not bragging in the slightest.)

There are some regulars out on my playground. It's hard for me to remember their names all the time because...well...they're just so foreign. But I remember their faces! I saw one such friend this morning and remembered her immediately. She is a quiet, mousy sort of woman. She's around 30 years old and not married (which I've been told labels you as strange in this culture).

I wanted to be super sweet to her today, so I try to strike up a conversation involving the ever-titilating topic of the weather. She gives me a cursory response and then flips herself upsidedown on the monkey bars, immediately sending me on a nostalgia trip to good ol' North Oaks Elementary School recess. Trying desperately to resist my childish desires to tug at her ponytail or tease her for wearing a bra, I press on in my small talk. Our topic this time: Father's Day.

This topic whips her into more of a verbal frenzy, which would seem like a good thing but I guess after my third or fourth blank stare, she decides that something must be done to help my listening comprehension. So she positions herself about six inches from my face and starts addressing me in a rather loud voice.

After enduring a bit of this, I politely excuse myself to go home for a shower (humid weather + morning runs = necessary shower). Once I enter my building, I decide I need to take some risks in making friends. I mean, how am I going to meet people and build real friendships if all I talk about is the weather and holidays? So I march myself back up to her and ask her if she wants to come over for lunch sometime. I think I embarrassed her but she ended up saying yes.

When Gigi came over later, I told her what I did and she affirmed that I most likely embarrassed the chick. Oops. I also confessed to Gigi that I've forgotten my friend's name, but now Gigi is conspiring how to subtly re-discover her name and write it down for me.

Our lunch is later this week, so we'll see how it goes...

My Second Birthday

Today is my second birthday, my re-birthday if you will. Eleven years ago today I became a Christian. I remember eleven years ago hearing about Jesus' life & purpose in a new way. It was more than smiley bumper stickers saying "Jesus loves you!" It was more than being a good person or going to church. It was more than walking old ladies across the street, feeding the poor, or even participating in Bible studies. Instead, it was real-life--my real-life--colliding with another real life lived thousands of years ago.

Living life for my own pleasure, convenience, and advancement is an offense to God who created me. My sin of not only ignoring him but of falling short of his every standard for my life caused a rift in my relationship with him. But the good news! O the good news! Jesus lived a perfect life on my behalf and died the death that I deserved, taking my punishment. His resurrection proved him more powerful than death and more powerful than the sin & selfishness in my own life. What was there for me to do but to abandon the feeble control I thought I had over my life and to turn to this Jesus who demonstrated his love for me in such a way?

Now of course eleven years ago, I didn't understand everything there was to understand (I still don't today for that matter!) But my fifteen year old heart recognized how it craved to know and be known by my Father in Heaven. I chose to follow him that day and haven't regretted it for a moment since.

Happy Re-Birthday to me! Praise God who gives new life!

Rachel continued...

Now I know it's probably unfair to find such humor in the locals' English. I mean, to count how many ridiculous things must come out of my mouth everyday is just innumerable. But since Kevin's little language partner's "soft grass" antics were such a hit last week, I feel obliged to share her most recent musings.

"Your ears are too small for your head."

And my personal favorite...

"The grass on your arm has grown."

Soft grass

Kevin has recently made friends with a family. Once a week, he goes to their house for dinner. After dinner, he studies English with their 8 year-old daughter, whose English name is Rachel. In return, Rachel studies our new language with Kevin. It's somewhat of an imbalance because kids here have been studying English ever since they sit foot in a classroom (which starts really young here). Us...we're going on five months!

Rachel will read a sentence in English, then Kevin will read in our new language. Needless to say, it takes Kev a little longer to get through his. This leaves Rachel a little bit bored, so she has to find something to do to occupy herself. her favorite past time of late? Petting Kevin's arm hair.

This was last week's arm-hair stroking discussion:

Rachel: There's a fly in your arm.
Kevin: (pause in translating) Really?
Rachel: I think the fly thinks your arm is grass. Soft grass. (Pensive pause from Rachel, who then looks at her own arm) I have no grass.

Who ever thought that body hair would ever provide such entertainment?