Finding Faith in the Battle

 Every missionary is faced with educating their children, and there are as many ways that God provides as there are challenges. For us in this season, living in Nairobi, we have the option of Rosslyn Academy. It is a faith-based school for kids from KG-12, and priority is given for missionary kids. It's the school where Anya and Ethan attended when we lived here before, and we remembered it as a great community, a rigorous college-prep curriculum that matches US standards, and a beautiful campus where children are safe and loved and nurtured and directed to Jesus.  Now that school has started, the reality is just as wonderful as we remembered it being, and more so.  Isaac is in grade 10, and Omara is in grade 7 this year. They have fit right in and are enjoying smaller class sizes and community-building events. Isaac is already working on the set and lights/sound support for the "fall" performance of Emma  and is attending a boys' Bible study and Friday night fellowsh

I asked you to pray for me while I attended the Baptist Women's Convention, and I know I need to give you an update on how it went. But I’m struggling to find the words to faithfully describe it in ways that communicate my experience . Oh, let’s be honest. I’m sorta struggling to process it for myself. It was incredibly hard...and incredibly sweet. It was 100% Kenyan…in every wonderful and every challenging way. I went to be a blessing…and I ended up being blessed. I had moments of wonder at the beauty of what I get to partake in, and moments of tears over the sacrifices it requires. I actually truly enjoyed myself, even as I wondered how I wasn’t curled up in a fetal position. Actually, that’s the only thing I know for sure—I felt God’s grace sustaining me through it all. I knew my flesh was weak and my determination could only take me so far—God did the heavy-lifting to make me joyful. The conference started with an 8.5 overnight bus ride to Western Kenya. It then consi

We have landed, and we are well.  Last time we lived here, my work partner and I agreed that anytime we started to feel culture stress, we would close our eyes and repeat the phrase that gives life: "mangos, sunshine, and roses" so that we could focus on the gifts of God instead of the traffic and power outages. I must have shared that with another coworker, because when we arrived--she met us with mangos and roses. Another friend made sure we were well-supplied with the dark roast coffee I have yearned for. New coworkers who have never met us provided bags of food and sweet notes. We have been hosted for dinners almost every night so I don't have to try and remember how to cook here again just yet.  We are in temporary housing until our house is painted and prepared for us, and there are times I yearn to unpack. It's been a long 11 weeks of living out of suitcases since we left Hilliard. But we've always had comfortable accommodations, and even now we're stay

We just finished up a delicious backyard BBQ with all the Pumpellys here in Richmond. Burgers, sweet corn, watermelon, pasta salad...yum! Yesterday we had our last Texas Roadhouse. The day before, our last Mexican.  That's what happens as we near the end of our time here in the US. Every thing we do becomes our last, it seems. But you know what we're doing that isn't our last? Packing.  I have now officially packed our blasted trunks 4 times. Every time they're exactly 49 pounds; it's just what makes up the 49 pounds that keeps changing. Most recently, we realized we needed to pack LESS of the gluten free items we had planned to take (they're heavy), and we needed to pack a better variety of each person's clothes in each trunk (in case one gets lost between here and Kenya).  Tomorrow, the 28th, we wash the last load of laundry, pack the last minute items, and roll up the toiletry bag. It's leaving day! There were days I stressed our work permit wouldn

  We are officially half-way done with our Orientation here in Richmond, Virginia. I have cried hot tears. Made new friends. Been humbled and challenged and corrected and encouraged by God through the teachings and the incredibly gifted trainers. I came into this 7 weeks not particularly excited, but figuring it would be good for my kids and I might be able to contribute to others’ growth some. I have come face to face with how much growth I still have need of, and how good this has been for me too. When we first arrived, Omara and Isaac both spent some nights crying themselves to sleep as the reality of leaving hit in a new way. The internet is slower, the rules are different, the schedule is pretty controlled, and friends are far away. But Omara has thrown herself into new friendships with great gusto, and we rarely see her after breakfast until bedtime now! She has a group of girls around her age, plus a few older kids and lots of young adults who are simply phenomenal at mentorin

The emotions of packing up and leaving have made my mind raw, and I’ve had random crying spells sprinkled in among times of profound gratitude. There’s nothing quite like loss to make you appreciate what God has gifted. And there really is a sense of loss—a counselor once explained that it’s called “Ambiguous Grief” because no one has actually died and in theory we can always come back and see people again. It’s not the same as when my dad died back in 2016. But we all know it won’t be exactly the same ever again, even when we do come back, and until then Kenya is really far away and FaceTime is not the same as face time. But I digress.  After an amazing week in Oregon, we are now back in Central Ohio for our last hurrah, hanging out with our adult kids. And when people say adult kids are the best, they aren’t kidding! Anya and Everett are killing this adulting thing, hosting Omara and Isaac and feeding us all for the week. Anya even woke up early and made a gluten-free lunch out of no

 Chad tells me that a concerned friend took him aside to check in on me. “It almost sounded like she was serious when she said she loved moving. What’s up with that?!?” So Mark, this one is for you.  Yes. I said I love moving. Remember—the adventure, the newness, the starting over with all the possibilities open? SO much fun. But I learned something new this past few weeks that came to a head just yesterday. I love the IDEA of moving. I do NOT, in fact, love the logistics of moving.  In fact, I hate it. I despise it. You might go as far as saying I abhor it.  Let me count the ways. 1. I hate putting my stuff on FB marketplace for the world to see, only to have obvious scammers immediately beg to buy it if only I’ll give them my number for their husband to arrange details of pick up. I still haven’t figured out their angle, but after a few go-arounds, I started immediately recognizing it and telling them sweetly that “trying to scam people is not kind”. They never responded to that. 2.

Picture this... A 14 year old girl from Oregon, smart but insecure. Likable enough, but too reserved to really be cool. Later voted 'Most Likely to Succeed' A 15 year old boy from Ohio who would choose getting a laugh over getting an A any day of the week. Later voted 'Class Clown'.  That was us, proving that opposites do attract, and that high-school sweet-hearts can last! And it all went down in Kenya, back in the dark ages of 1991-1995, when thank goodness we didn't have social media to document all our shenanigans! We left Kenya when we graduated high school, certain that we would never be back.  After we married in 1998, life has taken us all over: a year in Oregon, seven in Ohio, then a few in Washington state. Off to Malawi, then Kenya, then North Carolina and back to Ohio. In our 25+ years of marriage, we've moved too many times to recall. And can I tell you a secret? One that really exposes my crazy??? I love moving.  For real! It's messy and exhaus

I started this blog decades ago (!) when we were first headed to Africa with our 2 young children. I anticipated adventures that I would enjoy sharing, and indeed we had all sorts of adventures! We spent 3.5 years in Lilongwe and added 2 kids to our crew. Then we all spent another 5 years in Nairobi, Kenya where we had more adventures--both the good and the hard kind. Our beautiful, adventurous young teen Anya was living her best life there. Our tender reed of a son, Ethan, was not. The demands of school and the loss of friend after friend to mission-life transition almost broke him. Silly little 1st grade Isaac and salty but loving pre-school Omara just went with the flow. And we made the heart-breaking decision to take a leave-of-absence from Kenya. That leave-of-absence turned into resignation as it became clearer that God was directing us to stay in the US to support Ethan. Let me be clear--it was one of the most painful things we have ever done. You can read more about it here  a