i hate typhoid. {a post from a couple weeks ago}

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My last post was one I wrote a couple weeks ago. This post is one I wrote one day later. Thankfully, our child is on the mend from the suspected case of typhoid, but the fear I experienced in the night described below... the memory of that will linger.

When I wrote the last post, I said I was scared.

I didn’t know scared then.

How do you learn what is means to be scared?

When a little one with HIV, who just became your child the week before, spikes a fever and headache and body aches, and you have to rush to a hospital in the middle of the night for help, and the first hospital doesn’t have any nurses or doctors there at the moment, “scared” takes on a whole new meaning.

As you hold your dear one, burning up and lethargic, on your lap down dirt roads and past boda boda stands, it doesn’t matter if you’re not much of a crier. Tears fall.

As a kind man who has become a friend comes with you into the second hospital, you are thankful, even without knowing that he asked your husband’s permission to stay with you and protect you since it was dark and late and could be dangerous. The same dear man walked an hour to a different hospital two nights before because his baby had croup and he didn’t have the resources to get a ride there. The same dear man walked to another hospital a few years before with a sick baby who died in his wife’s arms during the two hours before the doctor arrived to see their child.

Yes, I learned what it means to be scared, but my friend taught me a greater lesson about kindness and sacrifice. I learned much more too…

How callously I treat the riches available to me at home.

How spoiled I am to be able to reach an on-call nurse or doctor when I need help in the middle of the night.

How blessed I am to be able to quickly and easily go to our local children’s ER whenever my kids need care, knowing that everything medically possible will be done for them.

How little difference it makes if I carried a child in my womb for nine months or in my arms for a few weeks… my heart hurt in the same way as it would have for Jocelyn or Robbie as I waited for medical attention for the one I carried through the hospital in the dark.

How encouraging social media can be, as I returned home to find that our internet had run out but still had ten comments to read that had come through on my phone before the web cut out.

How thankful I was for a medical experience that, despite not meeting the standards expected in the US, was perfectly adequate as professionals did what they could with all the resources they had.

How the 37,500 Ugandan shillings – roughly 15 US dollars – were a small price to pay for seeing two doctors and two lab techs, getting test results quickly, and leaving with two prescriptions.

How precious it was to return home to one sleeping baby girl and four awake children who couldn’t sleep without kisses from Mommy and assurance that their sick sibling was home safe.

How exhausting and joy-filled parenting can be, all at the same time.

i hate malaria {a post I wrote a couple weeks ago}

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I wrote this a couple weeks ago. The good news is that Zoe's health is restored, except for a little more fatigue than usual. Our passports have been received, though not in the timing I hoped for when writing this. The children's IOM medicals are complete, and we will have our interview at the US Embassy in Kampala today and should receive our visas on Wednesday. 

 If all goes according to that plan, we will fly out at 12:45am on Friday morning (really, more like Thursday night) and, after a stop in London, arrive in Raleigh at 3:45pm on November 22.

We knew there were risks in bringing our first three children to Uganda to bring home our newest three.

And now, Zoe has malaria.

We caught it early. We’ve started the medicine as directed by a Western doctor here and our pediatrician back home. We’re doing all we can to keep her fevers down and keep her comfortable.

I’m not going to lie. It’s scary.

I haven’t cried much while we’ve been here, but upon realizing that our baby girl is ill because we chose to bring her to Africa with us, the floodgates opened.

I hate malaria.

Malaria almost took the life of our youngest Ugandan a couple months ago. Now, malaria is visiting us once again.

Did I mention that this is scary?

God and I have had a lot of hard talks lately. I’m glad he can handle it. I trust that he has a purpose in all the struggles we’re having here in Uganda, but it’s still hard when we dwell in such uncertainty and illness in this beautiful country.

Pray with us.

Pray for us.

For health, not only for Zoe but also for those in our family having stomach issues. For our three Ugandans’ passports to be ready today, even though we’ve been told that’s not a possibility. For grace from the people we’ll deal with for the kids’ immigration medicals and for our embassy appointments for their visas. For strength and endurance for us. For God to let us in on what he is doing in all of this, because we ache to see the purpose in the pain.

unexpected blessings

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One child throws up.

Another runs a fever.

One fights taking meds.

Another does too.

A few take turns being sick and sleeping on a mattress on the bathroom floor.

One wiggles out from under her mosquito net.

(She gets malaria.)


Three hide food to make sure they won’t go hungry like before.

One scavenges through the trash and eats whatever she can find.

That one eats crayons too.

And chalk.

And silly putty.

(That last one was an accident. She thought it was gum.)

One catches geckos at night when he’s supposed to be in bed.


Another throws birthday parties for stuffed animals.

One wants to change her dress at least three times a day.

Another pouts if jeans aren’t clean to wear that day.

Six love books.

Six love each other.

Six are loved.

Six are ours.

I never expected to be a mom of six.


And I am thankful for God’s unexpected blessings.

changing my perspective of home. {for now}

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Sometimes a change in perspective helps more than you’d think.

(I could write a dozen posts about figurative changes in perspective, but that’s not what this post is about.)

No, I mean a literal change in perspective, as I write this post from a different location in the room. I swapped Jocelyn’s bed and the table, and then angled mine and Lee’s bed from the opposite corner of the table.

{excuse the mess. we all - minus Zoe, who is sleeping in another room - share this one room}

Now the room feels a bit more like home.

I hope it’s only home for another week, but regardless of the length of our stay, our family needs a home and not just a room.

The rearrangement was just the change our space – and my heart – needed. This place is home.

For now.