Ruth Visits Washington DC

Because we had no idea how well the kids would travel, we really wanted our friend Ruth to come home with us. Selfishly, I knew that I was really going to struggle with leaving Kenya, and as Ruth has become my best friend, it was also appealing to at least not have that good-bye to deal with as well. However, we were so tight financially from Jeromy's months without pay, that there was no way we could do it. Ruth is a missionary..so that goes without further explanation. So, much like God does, he touched a heart and that heart reached out to people she didn't even know. Ruth's ticket was paid for by a bunch of anonymous givers. Just yesterday, I was cleaning Jeromy's office (no small task), and I came across an envelope. Apparently, someone had taken a photo of every check and dollar donation that came in. I was in tears and the love flowed over my heart. I guess that sounds silly, but when you are a mother, you lose touch with people so fast. It was nice to remember how loved we are.
The transition home was filled with so many conflicting emotions. We were so glad to be on US soil, yet somewhere in the past year, we had planted some deep roots in Kenya. It was like we were leaving home for a very long time...
Here are the pics from Ruth's first visit to Washington DC.

The other day, I sat back for a rare moment to reflect on the past year. My how time has flown and how our children have grown and changed. It almost hurt to realize how quickly they are growing up. Now that we are in the states, we have busied ourselves to thoroughly, that I have not even taken the time to journal. It occurred to me that the kids will have all of these previous entries to read about their story in Kenya, but once in the states, they will have little to go by.
So, forgive me, but I am going to back log. It is my determination to start back when we first got back from Kenya and fill in the blanks for my children. Life is short. I have seen a lot of unexpected death in the past few months, and I am rather heart sore. If I do not live to tell my children what great kids they are, how much I enjoy my time with them, if time does not allow me the pleasure of sharing our memories, I want them to know that every night when the house falls silent, I reflect for a moment on how precious are the gifts that fill this house with noise, dirt, and love and I am compelled, for just a moment, to wake them all back up and pull them close and hold on like it is our last moment.
So, here goes...