First, let's start with something in Nepal that still makes me laugh. There is no such thing here as colors for girls that might not be appropriate for boys. Combine that with the practice of not cutting a boy's hair for his first five years of life (often it is pulled back or up in a hair band/pony tail) and piercing the ears of a baby boy, and it is difficult to guess whether a child is a boy our girl when you meet one on the road. Today, I was with a white friend who has a two-year-old daughter. A Nepali woman was walking by and she stopped to greet us in the friendly Nepali way. My friend's little girl had on a dress, a pearl necklace and purple shoes with flowers, as well as having longish hair that was tied up. This well-meaning Nepali woman asked if the child was a son or daughter. The next thing we knew, this feminine little girl had toddled off and was becoming well acquainted with the feel of cow dung, so her mother ran off to bring a halt to that activity, and while the mother was out of earshot, the Nepali woman asked me if I was the grandmother of this child whose gender she could not determine. I might assume that my light colored hair is being mistaken for grey, or maybe I am really looking old; one of my children did remind me that girls are sometimes married off at age nine here in Nepal, so I guess I very well could be a grandmother. Thanks for the laughs, Nepal!
Now onto a more serious note. I have blogged very little during this stint in Nepal. We could chalk it up to our visit here being very short and we are quite focused this year on the work that we are doing (for such a short time). That is partially correct. Dave has been very focused on completing the second edition of his book on HIV/AIDS in Nepal. But, we have certainly been busier in other seasons of our life. The truth is that we are experiencing a very different season in our lives.
I just finished reading Ecclesiastes to the boys; it is one of those books that I have not read to them before. In this somewhat depressing book, Solomon wisely reminds us that life has many different seasons. Right now, the Beines are in a season of grieving. We seem to be grieving multiple losses. This will be the final trip to Nepal for all six of us together; Nick is ready to hunker down in America and start working toward a plan for university study as well as that launch into his own life work. So, whenever we come here again, it will be without Nick.
We lost our house five months ago. Although our life has been quite nomadic, this house of ours in Spokane has been "home base" for the past 14 years. As we watch it go back together, we have been surprised by some of the things that we talk about missing (even some of the imperfect aspects of the house were memories for us that we weren't necessarily ready to part with). So, each of us is grieving in his/her own way, and the banner that we live under during this time is GRACE; we must give each other grace for each of our reactions to this loss.
The Chepang project is coming to a close this year. We made a commitment to the Chepang in 1998 and I'm not sure that we felt it was time to finish, but for a variety of reasons, this is the year to bring this project to a close. Our colleagues in South Asia have collectively launched into a new vision and a new way of doing things. Where we fit into all this newness is not currently apparent. At this moment, every member of the Tansen foreign community (that serves with UMN at Tansen Mission Hospital) is different than when we arrived three and a half years ago. Thankfully, our Nepali friends have not moved away, and our new friends are wonderful also.
The paradigm of mission is changing and the idea of serving in one place for more than a couple of years is far less common. This makes for much change. Speaking of change, I reflected, with David, the other day on the fact that in 20 years of being married to him, I have had to pack my bags in less than 12 months for 19 of those years. Now I know why I feel so very very tired (in an emotional sense).
Some of the exhaustion comes from the ever shifting circumstances. On one side of the world, I live in middle-class suburbia, driving to work where I practice elder care. On the other side of the world, I live in a house made of mud on the side of a mountain, walking to work where from week to week, I am not sure if I will be working on the Maternity Ward or serving in the Pediatric Outpatient Clinic.
Although I have loved everything that we have done, I feel quite strongly that it is time for me to enter a season of rest (not meaning not working but meaning not moving for a few years). I sense that some green, peaceful pastures, with nearby still waters are ahead. I am grateful for what I perceive to be an upcoming rest. I am limping a bit from my current exhaustion, but I see the restful spot ahead. I do hope the LORD is going to say that a season of slowing down is at hand when I reach that spot. We will not rest for long; it isn't what our time on earth is about. Heaven is the place where we enter our long-term rest. Still, I am due for a stop on our journey. I think David could also use a breather, but I am not sure that he knows it yet. Will you join us in praying that we would live well in this new season that is soon to begin?
Thanks,
Kimberly, for the Bunch
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