The Little Light We Carry

Saturday morning, at 6:30am, the hubs and I were suddenly woken to what sounded like an explosion. After wondering aloud what in the world that was, I said “Let’s assume it was some nearby construction until we get up in a little while.” Over breakfast the hubs got on Twitter (a technology that I’m still not sure how to work) and saw that it was an explosion in another part of town just over the bridge, at the Italian consulate. One person was killed and a few injured, and the building heavily damaged due to almost 1,000lbs of explosives. This is less than two weeks after another bomb killed a lead Egyptian prosecutor.

After each of these events there is, admittedly, a few moments where I wonder how much longer I can deal with life in less-secure places.

We’ve been here for about six weeks now. And we’re new here, but it’s not our first rodeo. We’ve lived in insecure places and situations the last few years. And this city is huge. Lots of things happen and rarely would I know about any of it if I didn’t check the news. Another ex-pats advice when we’d newly arrived was to not check the news. I suppose this is a good coping mechanism for some. And I understand. I go through phases in life where I can’t really cope with the news. But don’t worry, this is advice I’m not taking. For these sorts of things it’s important to keep your finger to the pulse of what’s going on. For now foreigners are not being targeted, and we have a good sense of where to avoid in the city. Where we work is quite a safe part of town, and where we’re moving soon is in quite an inconspicuous area.

So with the occasional immediate reaction to attacks and explosions being “Ack! What am I doing here?!” My next thought is thankfulness. I’m safe and where I want to be and doing what I want to be doing. This kind of life calls for stubbornness (and I’m quite sure my parents would agree that is a trait they were soooo blessed that I was born with) and I’m still far from the point of calling it on this way of life and choosing something a little easier on the nerves.

But that day may come. And it may be sooner or later than I may think that it is. I’ve learned that things can change very quickly. But whenever I start to wonder if that time may be getting near, I think about the events and the turn of things that have happened even in the 4.5 years that I’ve been living in this part of the world. More wars, conflicts, genocides. More people hurt, fleeing, seeking refuge anywhere else. Persecution and famine and shortages. One in every 122 people in the world right now is a refugee, internally displaced or seeking asylum. Almost 60 million people displaced by war, violence, or persecution. So much desperation. And I can’t yet. I just can’t yet.

I’m not as naïve as I was when I first went out. I know that breaking points come. And, yes, now that I’m married some things have changed. The risk assessment is different. It was different when the choices about the risks to my well-being, were mainly to my well-being. I did keep my family in mind, but when you’re (very happily) yoked to another, well…it’s different.

We got our one year work visas last week. Which is a huge relief and answer to prayer. The plan is still to be here at least two years. And we’ll keep evaluating along the way. But we’re fine. Quite fine indeed. We feel safe enough, and we’re happy to be talking through this stuff and making these choices together. Please be praying for our safety and for this troubled and uncertain world.

“Mostly we have just enough light to see the next step: what we have to do in the next hour or following day. The art of living is to enjoy what we can see and not complain about what remains in the dark. When we are able to take the next step with the trust that we will have enough light for the next step that follows, we can walk through life with joy and be surprised at how far we go. Let’s rejoice in the little light we carry, and not ask for the great beam that would take all the shadows away.” Henri Nouwen

Pepper Spray

We're staying in a pretty nice part of town right now. There are actually sidewalks in these parts so you don't have to weave through cars as you walk. So I've been getting up at 6am and running a couple of mornings a week. I ran often in Juba and when I stayed in Nairobi. I tried to run in my previous desert home, but because it was SO conservative I had to get up so silly early that there were no other people around and I never felt safe or comfortable enough with it, especially since the street dogs ran around in packs of ten to twenty dogs. While running in various African capitals the last few years there have been a few sketchy moments, but nothing too jarring has happened. I always carry pepper spray and pause my music if something seems fishy.

 

I was running on Saturday and along the one side there was the highway (quiet, because it was 6am) and on the other side there was a fence and some trees. I think its part of some stables and a horse-riding center. I heard some dogs barking from the fence side and thought, "Oh, probably just some guard dogs. But there's a fence. No problem." And slowed down a bit, but kept going. Not the first time guard dogs have gone crazy when I've run by.

 

There was a second where I saw them appear behind the fence, and the next second there was a street dog snarling beside me with two other dogs just behind.

 

I've dealt with street dogs periodically before, usually they're quite timid and scared. But they can be alarmed when I'm running so if they start barking at me, I always just stop, walk, and look back until they're not interested in me anymore and I slowly start going again. This was the first time, though, that I got it wrong. That I thought, "No, I'm fine, there's a fence. I'm safe." It is a far different experience to go from thinking all is fine and the next second finding a snarling dog right next to you.

 

I stopped running immediately, whipped out the pepper spray and pointed it in their direction, (pooooossibly some unsavory words slipped out under my breath...) and slowly backed on to the road and away. After a minute or two, two of them lost interest, and the third watched me for a bit until I turned the corner and was out of sight.

 

I finished my (adrenaline fuelled) run and got back to the house very thankful that I still had my face. Though, admittedly, a bit shaken up.

 

The last few weeks in my desert home when I was being periodically detained and interrogated, there was another ex-pat friend of mine who was going through the same thing. One night they had us there until well after dark, and then released us to go. Thankfully I had some friends that lived nearby, but my friend lived in another part of town. That night as she made her way back, just a few minutes from where she stayed she was attacked and almost raped and was able to flee because she had pepper spray with her.

 

I never carried it with me until she had that incident. I've never had to use it for a situation like that, thankfully. But I have had to pull it out a few times now. Once in South Sudan when a drunk man wouldn't let me pass and tried to attack me, and now again with the dogs.

 

And one thing I've learned and keep learning over the last few years is that the bad/hard things we fear are never the ones that happen. There are many things that have caused me to be anxious and many scenarios playing over in my mind that have kept me up at night the last few years. I never thought I'd be forced to leave my desert home the way I did. I never thought I'd have to evacuate from South Sudan. These were never things that I feared. Rarely do the things we worry about happen.

 

There's a situation the hubs and I have to deal with this week and it was weighing on my mind as I was out for that run. And I was completely caught off guard when I found myself in danger, in just a matter of seconds. I found out later that the situation we have to deal with isn't as serious as I thought it was. A big part of my anxiety about it has been solved before we even start.

 

We try really hard to be safe, to be wise. But we weigh that with not being too cautious, not to a fault. If our safety was our highest priority...well, we wouldn't be living in North Africa. There is some sense of comfort in the fact that the situations I can think up that could go wrong, never seem to be the things that happen. So there is nothing fruitful in thinking these things over too much. I'll still be cautious where it feels right, still read the local news, still always carry pepper spray with me. But I take a lot of comfort in the fact that in all the unsavory situations I've found myself in the last few years, that I was covered, protected, looked after. God gave me what I needed, showed me so much grace, and gave me some rich lessons in those times. It is so true that his goodness knows no bounds.

 

We shouldn't focus on sheltering ourselves from harm. We have to put ourselves out there. As we continue on I'm feeling safe under His covering (with pepper spray in hand) and refusing to respond in fear to this crazy world.

 

(But, yeah, ok, we did find a cheap treadmill and will have that in our flat when we move in a few weeks. No need to become dog food if I can prevent it.)

Demanding Something of Us

Last night the president declared today a holiday and so (surprise!) the office is closed and we get the day off. It’s the anniversary of the second revolution, and with the bombing yesterday killing a lead prosecutor (nowhere near us, don’t worry!), foreigners have been advised to stay close to home today. So we have a stocked fridge and are laying low for the day. Which is just as well; yesterday was a weird day in the office.

From the start of the day there was some flustery agitation in the air. The printer/copier wasn’t working and neither was the internet. Quite essential things for most people in the office to be able to do their jobs. A few of the staff were out sick, and they were ones that my to-do list for the day depended on. So I spent the first part of the morning kind of feeling immobile. I’m still learning my role, but everything I knew that I could be working on, I couldn’t because people weren’t there or things weren’t working. Finally get to be here, and then a morning that I felt like wasted space. I hate it.

Then a man came in through the staff entrance to talk to me. He looked Ethiopian and after terse greetings started to explain his situation. He was clearly upset. My Arabic is conversational, but not enough to solve issues involving a lot of nuance and bits that should not be lost in translation. So I tried to get a member of staff to translate, but he walked outside and grabbed a random person and refused to let a member of our staff translate for him.

Eventually I worked out that he’d come to us over a month ago for us to help him find work. He’d come to our office twice, using the money from his pocket for transport. He was told to come and meet with an employer at 10:00. He’d been waiting for an hour. Unbeknownst to him the employer had been told to come at 11:00. They usually do this because the refugees are generally not on time, and we don’t want to make the employers wait.

I asked him a few times in a few ways what it was that he wanted me to do, or what he wanted from me. I never got a clear answer—thankfully the employer showed up at 11:00 on the nose, but the guy said he was leaving. But an amazing South Sudanese lady, well-in-years, who works in the job placement department that we call Mama, took him by the arm and pulled him into the other room to meet the employer.

It was a stressful encounter. There were 1-3 other people around as we tried to sort out the situation. In the end I think he just wanted to lodge a complaint to me, their supervisor. He just wanted to be heard. At one stage he was so upset his lip was quivering. A thing I’ve never seen from a male in this part of the world nor would ever expect to see.

Obviously he’s desperate. Who knows what’s happened in his life. What or who he has lost or had to flee from or be forced to leave. He probably doesn’t want to be a cleaner. Possibly he’s educated and well qualified or skill to work that is far above any informal jobs he’ll be able to find here. He just wants to work and perceived our staff to not be taking his situation seriously or disrespecting him.

The truth is that it’s really difficult to find work placements for men. Most work in the informal sector (cleaning, child-minding, cooking) is offered to women. When he hears nothing from us for a few weeks and then finally does and shows up and has to sit and wait for over an hour, of course whatever pent-up trauma and anger he has from whatever situation has forced him to be a refugee, bubbles over.

The meeting didn’t go great. The guy was still fuming and the employer even asked him why he was sitting there so furious. But he’s still giving him a chance and the man is supposed to start his job today. Anger can be such an awful thing—ruining the very thing you’re seeking. I spent most of the afternoon praying that the man would cool off and be able to really take advantage of this work opportunity.

It was a hard situation. In the end I didn’t actually do anything or improve the situation for anyone.  And what could I have done? That’s the bit that’s the hardest. When there’s a situation you feel like you really should be able to do something to help but can’t even really figure out what that should be.

But we keep seeking, keep trying. It’s why we’re here. We saw the situations in our previous countries, we knew people were flooding to neighboring countries, but finding that they had little hope or help there too. So this is us being here, trying to do something to help, and I suppose even when you’re in your sweet spot, you’ll still feel immobile at times. But keep seeking, keep trying. Keep identifying injustices and being wise and brave and try to set them right. It’s when you give up on the trying that stagnation sets in. And this world wins.

“The dominant culture is a wearied culture, nearly unable to be seriously energized to new promises from God. We know, of course, that none of us relishes criticism, but we may also recognize that none of us much relishes energizing either, for that would demand something of us.” Walter Brueggemann

Strangers in a Not Entirely Strange Land

There is quite a difference between the sensory overload you experience in a new country once you've done this before. When I first moved to Africa everything was an experience, everything felt noteworthy, all was new and exciting. And while each new place since has had wonderful things to marvel at, lots of culture to learn, and a ton to figure out, now that I've moved country a few times it's all a bit less overwhelming. I feel a little less strange in strange lands. Or at least slightly less overly-self-aware. Not everything feels like an experience, not all things feel noteworthy. Which is good in some ways. I feel less out-of-place and less completely out of my depth. Parts of the culture and the people actually feel a bit like home. The greetings, Arabic rapport, the call to prayer as the heat of the day is setting. There is lots to learn, there always is, but some of it I've already got a handle on. Which is a relief.

Also, the very hard and struggled-to-attain confidence to traipse a big city in a land that is not my own, well, turns out, it does transfer a bit! And having a pretty good handle on language really helps. Yes, there are parts of me that feel more at rest here than have felt at rest in many months.

One of the programs that I'm managing is our cleaning course. It's a two week course for refugees to learn about the different cleaning products here. What they do, how to use them, the ones that are dangerous. But in that, too, are basic life/employment skills. The importance of being dependable and on time, respecting oneself and their employer, and general wise words about navigating positive relationships with the culture here. As well as bits about godliness, cleanliness, and peace starting inside their own hearts. Not things I'd necessarily be able fit in during a cleaning course, but that our great staff here does seamlessly.

Thursday afternoon was my first time to attend our graduation from the cleaning course. It was a smaller group than usual (likely because last week began Ramadan), but a very motivated bunch. One of the graduates, from an extremely war-torn area in North Africa, got up and said a few words. He commended the teacher (a South Sudanese guy who really is an excellent teacher--I've never seen anyone so enthusiastic about cleaning products) and explained how difficult it is for them to find work here since they are strangers to this land. He shared that he is very thankful for this course and hopeful that it will help provide him with a job. He looked around the room and said, "Our future will be better."

The instructor gave me a few minutes to stand up and encourage the group. I talked about the places I lived and how much I love their countries and that my husband and I are here now because we can't live in their home countries either, but we still wanted to be among them, helping them if we could. I encouraged them to work well once they get placed in jobs, and that God loves and cares for them. I got to deliver a little speech in Arabic again...and my heart felt a little more at home.Among people I love, from a country my heart is still very much invested in, speaking in a tongue that I can understand. Not entirely unlike me, this is not their homeland. And while, of course, our reasons and means of being here are worlds apart, our worlds do merge. And because my world merged with theirs a few years ago, they are a people that will in some way forever feel like home.

Though moving here feels easier than other cities I've moved to in recent years, I still want to be mindful and aware of the newness and the experiences around. I still want to learn and be stretched, be mindful and take note. I have much to learn from all these strange lands. And I rejoice in the fact that I don't feel a complete stranger here, and that even the strangers here feel a bit like home.

Slowing Down and Settling In

Well, it's been a long gap. The last several months were, well, frantic. After being back in South Sudan, we went to Kenya, back to South Sudan, Kenya, UK for Christmas, US for just under three months with lots of travelling, back to the UK and travelling all over there. And now, finally, in our new North African home. Nine months of marriage, thirty-six beds, no more than three weeks in one place and a grand total of ten weeks not living in someone else's house or a hotel. And while we're still in a guesthouse/apartment for the time being until we find our own place to SETTLE in, it feels good to finally get where we're going.

We're about two weeks in. Only had a day overlap in the office with our director who is away now for a month for a much needed break. We've both been sick which is to be expected. New country, travelling, and finally stopping after going for so long. And now a longer season of transition into our new city, our new home.

Transitions. You'd think I'd be better at them by now. I have gotten better at knowing what feels to expect and what passes and better at taking it a little easier on myself at first. What helps a LOT is doing this with another person, and my favorite one at that. I went overseas planning on being in one place for a long time. Four-and-a-half years in and relocating to my third country was not the plan. It's aggravating at moments having to be the new kid all over again. More roads and public transport and landmarks to learn! More relationships to establish and friends to make! But when you spend your teenage years praying that God will send you to hard places, one should not be surprised to find oneself in countries that are unstable and having to adjust accordingly.

So here we are, again, desperately trying to build the kingdom among people we love.

My life here in this new big city is going to be a lot different. Easier in a number of ways, for one. Less oppressive climate, more amenities, not living with lots and lots of children. And also because, for the first time in my life basically, I'll mostly have normal scheduled working hours. In an office. Which is nuts. And kinda throwing me for a loop. In South Sudan and in my desert home before that, most of my time was spent hands-on working with kids and teenagers. As nuts and intense as my life was, there was at least the fact that I was doing life with these kiddos and the sense that that was something and that mattered. While I'll still interact with refugees frequently in this role, my job is going to be far less hands on. I'll be implementing and maintaining programs that not only help give people skills, but also help place them in jobs so as to give them a livelihood, and supervising local folks who are better adept with the more hands-on bits anyway.

The hope is that while it is less hands off, that it does stand to be more effective. Taking what I learned the last several years and hopefully using this opportunity to help change peoples overall situations. My heart is still absolutely with children-at-risk. The ones the world has not taken care of. And while in the day to day my life will not be in any way working with kids (sniffle), if I can help vulnerable refugee men and women provide for the children in their care, these kids won't end up on the streets in the first place. So they are connected, even if my heart is mourning the loss of rapport with sassy kiddos on a day-to-day basis.

It feels right, though. This feels like the natural, right, next thing. The experience I've gained the last few years meeting the lots of things I want to learn about livelihoods projects in this perfect little role that lets me serve refugees from the last two countries I called home.

And now, this next bit, finding a place to live, and trying to find the peace in our hearts to settle in and put in roots after so, so much moving about.

Stay tuned to this space, if that's what you're into. Life has stopped moving so fast and we're settling in and I guess that's what I needed to be writing again. It feels good to be back.

Hope is
folding paper cranes
even when your hands get cramped
and your eyes tired,
working past blisters ad
paper cuts,
simply because something in you
insists on
opening its wings.
"Origami Emotion" Elizabeth Barrette

Back in Juba

Life has a very funny way of being very funny. Back in Juba for a few weeks, which is really completely bonkers. Dan and I have been married just over five weeks (and because I can't seem to mention being married without being kind of ridiculous and nauseating, I have to say that it's been a most glorious five weeks! Being married to this man feels like the most natural, wonderful thing in the world! Yay life!).

In those five weeks we've honeymooned in the US, had a long weekend in the UK (including an unplanned and not entirely pleasant 30 hour stint in Heathrow), a few days in Kenya, and are now back in South Sudan for a few weeks. Which is funny to me because in all the ideas Dan and I have had and all of the plans we have made, being back in Juba a few weeks after being married was definitely, definitely not one of them.

But, alas, here we are and Dan is working very hard, as he always does. I am doing computer work type things in the mornings, and in the afternoons am going to CCC every day to be with the girls and keep pushing them along in the beading project I got going while I was here.

For me, it is gloriously joyful to be back (to visit). I said good-bye in June with the expectation that I wouldn't be returning. I wanted to handle my good-byes properly and in an honest way. I think this is important for human copeability, but very massively important when you are saying those good-byes to children who've had difficult lives. I told them when I left that I didn't know when I was coming back or if I was coming back but that I loved them and would remember them always. They told me they would pray for God to bring me back. Looks like the prayers of little children must be powerful because, here we are!

I was greeted by all of the girls hurling towards me in the biggest, most excited group hug I've ever experienced. It was amazing. They were more gentle with Dan, for which I think he is most appreciative.

When I left South Sudan and in the last few months since I've been away I've told myself that usually when the founder of a project leaves, usually the project fades out. I told myself that at the very least the girls had sold over $3,000 worth of handcrafts and they each had money saved for their futures. That they each possessed new skills and maybe somewhere, somehow down the road it could benefit them or someone else in some way. I told myself I did my best and that it's unreasonable to think that in a year I could start something that could carry on. So I came back expecting the stock of things for sale to be low, most of the girls uninterested, and not a whole lot being done with it at all.

The day I got back I had two girls wander up with me to the large cupboard that acts as the CCC store. We opened it and I broke out into a huge grin. Lots of stock! New designs! Beautiful quality! Later on I sat down with Joy, a Ugandan lady who is on CCC staff, who I had handed over all of the materials to and inventory and books to record sales and pocket money. She started showing me her take on the systems I put in place, telling me about how the girls are using their pocket money, about special orders they've received, about Miss South Sudan's enthusiasm for the project, and about how much they've sold since I've been gone.

I wanted to cry! The girls had sold over $1,000 during the summer, bringing the grand total of things sold since we started last September to over $4,000! That's about $2,500 in combined savings! Even one of the 5-year olds is making little South Sudan flag bracelets nice enough to sell. Floored! Amazed! Delighted! Such joy.

So I've been hanging out with the girls every afternoon and it has been so good for my soul. They're my little sisters, my little friends. I've had the opportunity to help share some of the coping strategies living in the dorm with the girls for 8 months with another American gal who is living in the dorm with them now. I do not miss that part, I will say. But, as I was chatting with this new friend, I shared that I feel like part of the reason that I bonded so well with the girls and that we're pretty tight IS because I lived with them in the dorm and did life with them and was in and around allllllll of the time. Not super great for ones mental well-being perhaps, but it was very unique gift and blessing. Some of my most precious moments and memories and talks with them I wouldn't have been able to have if I wasn't living right beside them. It was challenging, but a great treasure to me and I think having foreigners willing to live with them where they are speaks in a special way to them as well.

It is a great and beautiful gift to visit another place that I've been gifted to call home for a season. He never seems to take us where we think we might go. Another reason that he is very, very good.

"Mostly we have just enough light to see the next step: what we have to do in the next hour or following day. The art of living is to enjoy what we can see and not complain about what remains in the dark. When we are able to take the next step with the trust that we will have enough light for the next step that follows, we can walk through life with joy and be surprised at how far we go. Let's rejoice in the little light we carry and not ask for the great beam that would take all shadows away." Henri Nouwen

Finding Words Again

It's been awhile. I went back to Juba and it was hard and good and strange I lost my words for a little while. It's taken me a few weeks in the US to start to find them again.

I have finished up in Juba for now. I spent two more months with the girls, spending time with them, finishing up what I needed to with the training, and handing over remaining responsibilities so it can keep on in my absence. A designated person to buy supplies and a person in the office to handle the money. The girls are trained, competent, and when I left we'd sold over $3,000 worth of beaded goods. 60% of that is in savings for them. It was more successful than I could have hoped when I settled into the dorm last July. A grace.

I had a proper good-bye with the girls and staff. Notes, hugs, closure. The way it should be done. The director even wrote a song about Dan and I and the girls all sang it for us at a little farewell they threw for me. It was perfect.

Leaving was bittersweet, as I'm sure you can imagine. Those sweet, amazing girls invaded my heart. But I leave them in good hands. I did what I had gone to do. I made their lives a little better I hope. It was time for me to go.

I'm back in the US now for a time. Dan, my fiancée, is still in Juba, continuing to work hard in an unstable, difficult place. He's by far the strongest man I know. South Sudan is a better place for having him there.

He'll come to the US (for the first time) a week before we get married in September. We'll be apart for 88 days, and then we'll be together for a week and then married and together for the rest of our lives. We're very, very ready for those days to hasten and to make our vows to each other after, what can only be described, as a very stressful, very tumultuous year for both of us. We're tired. And ready for a break.

Being back is hard. And to be honest I'm not coping as well as I would have thought. Yes, in large part because my love is very far away in a not-so-safe place. But also because I don't know how to deal with this last year, the things I have experienced and seen and heard, and what to do with that here and now, especially in the vast contrast of material goods and order and safety in the Western world.

I hear rain pattering on tin outside my window and freeze for a minute to see if it's gunfire. When I go running on back country road in the evenings I think about escape routes through the woods if someone tried to attack me. Throughout the day my mind drifts to all of the possible horrific things that could happen to me or my fiancée before we're able to be married.

This is not normal.

It's like my mind has shifted into some sort of crazy self-preservation mode. Like it has rationalized that with all these terrible things that I have seen and heard about, especially in South Sudan this last year, that something terrible must be coming for me. That it can't possibly be fair that unspeakable things can happen to all these people and I remain untouched. Happy. Joyous, even. Planning a wedding and a life with the best man I know. It feels like this crazy injustice. ...And so my mind is doing this thing where it's trying to think of all the awful things that could happen in order to prepare for it.

I know it's ridiculous. I know I'm being crazy. And yet, thankfully, it's not all consuming. I'm aware of it and I know it's not healthy. And I know that there is an enemy who wants to rob me of my joy. Who wants me to live in fear. Who wants me to be scared of losing the things in life that give me life. And so I'm combatting this the best way I know how. Praying, journaling. I'm running and painting and reading--trying to relieve the stress of these last several months and restore myself. I try to talk about it, but it's hard to know what to say.

People are still being killed. Children are starving. It looks like famine is getting ready to sweep the nation--already hanging on by a thread. I've held babies wounded from fighting. Sat in meetings where we talked about innocent men, women, and children had been shot. I got to know a very troubled girl who was locked in a room for three months and raped daily by a soldier. I spent months living with girls who were beaten and raped on the streets. I know of people who had happy lives and solid jobs who are now forced to live in UN camps, idling their days away, for they know if they venture out, because of their tribe, they're likely to be killed.

My mind cannot compute. I struggle to explain, because I don't even understand myself. I don't understand how these things can happen. And I know that with knowledge comes responsibility. What do I do with this knowledge right now? I feel weary and emotionally exhausted. I'm getting the break I need--a tremendous luxury.

And I'm marrying a man who cares about these things as I do. Who is as passionate and driven to do something as I am. I am grateful beyond words. We're not exactly sure where or what is next for us, but we know that we can't sit back idly, we can't choose a life of ease knowing what we know. We know that letting evil happen without doing anything is as bad as doing it ourselves.

So as I continue to seek the words and seek for understanding, I ask that you'd pray over Dan and I. For this difficult season and for rest in mind and body for both of us. We are weary.