The Queen of Sheba

As some of you know, my cat Corban has not returned to my care. He left on November 15, 2008 and has not been seen since. However, I do have a praise report. It seems God has given me a new little one to love - and she came with a story! Friday evening of last week I got a text message from my househelp's son (he speaks and writes a little English). Basically the text said they had an American cat for 13,000 rupees. I assumed for sale but I think I was wrong on this as later events unfolded. I texted back and said I would take the cat for free but wouldn't pay for it. A little while later some boys (relatives of my househelp) brought a Siamese cat. It was wrapped up in a jacket and at first I thought it was Corban - it looked just like him. I agreed to keep the cat but when I unwrapped it (later examination would find it to be a female), this cat was much smaller, younger, and had a crook in her tail. During the first couple of days I wasn't sure I would keep her because she was howling at night - and she has a loud and piercing meow. After a couple of days, she began to settle in and the crying/howling has stopped. At first I called her 'Shatana' - little devil - because she was howling so much. However, that is really not a polite name and would not do for long term - and she is really a sweet little thing. So, in consultation with my language teacher and my househelp, I have chosen the name 'Sheba' for her. Yes, as in 'The Queen of Sheba' -she may have to grow a little bit to fit into the monarchy but I am sure we will get there. Today I found out the full story (or as much of it as I will probably know) on this cat. Apparently, she was brought by a rich Pakistani family from America. The mother--in-law in the family did not like the cat so she was given away - and landed on my doorstep. I find that God has such a sense of humor. I tried so hard to bring my cats from America and it just seemed like there was a wall against this. Now God gives me an American cat and I didn't have to lift a finger - she literally was delivered to me. Also, if she was transported from America, that means that she was given a clean bill of health and all her shots (even though I don't have the papers). There is a verse in Ps. that says 'He gives blessings to His beloved in sleep' - such is this. And now I understand why she was crying - this is a strange new world for her and she is a stranger on these shores, much as I am. And just now, I looked up the meaning of the name 'Sheba' In Hebrew, it means 'promise.' Corbin meant 'sacrifice' and now I am reminded by five pounds of meow and fur that there is 'promise' in Him also.

Gypsy Life

All,

Just a quick post to let you know Christmas was wonderful. I left the US yesterday and am in Dubai right now. I will be here until January 15th and enshallah, will fly into Pakistan on Jan. 15th. Please keep me in your prayers! It's a gyspy life for sure!

Snow Angel

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Dulce

Dulce - the Spanish word for sweet. And how sweet it is to be home. I flew into Houston on Dec. 5th. I spend a couple of days in Houston seeing friends and taking care of a few odds and ends. I am happy to report that I did not pay for a meal during my entire four days in Houston - my friends - such blessings they are - treated me and made me feel loved and very special. I am blessed to call one of those friends family also - my cousin Kay.

I arrived at my brother's home yesterday. I have the privilege of having a 'sleepover' with my niece - there is nothing like a warm little body stealing the covers to make you feel right at home. She woke up about 6:30 this morning (I was already awake) and told me she had a nightmare. I kissed her head and said a little prayer that Jesus would make the nightmare go away. Ordinary living - and how precious it is.

I am sleeping well - I seem to have adjusted almost without effort to the schedule that I kept in Pakistan - I usually wake a little before 6:00 am each morning - the day starts early for me now. Somehow you get more done that way - not sure why.

Well, I will close - ordinary life calls and I must go get ready for the day. Ducle, Ducle....

Counting

I am on my way home in just a few days. As I reflect on the previous year, all I can think is that my computer is smarter than I am. In the last guesthouse in Islamabad and in the current one, I didn't have to try connect to wireless Internet. My computer 'remembered' and automatically connected. There were both places I had been before - the familiarity is nice, but, gee whiz - you know you have traveled a lot when the Internet connections are there automatically. I was counting the other day and here is my tally of places seen within the last 12 months: Thailand, UAE, Pakistan, Afghanistan, America....I also saw the borders of China and India so I am counting those too. If you count airports, I saw France on the way here. Frankly, I feel like a gypsy, albeit a high-tec one. OK, how many ways have I traveled this year? By bus, by car, by taxi, by airplane, by jeep - no boats or trains that I can remember. My SIM card collection - well, let's just say it's becoming a hobby to collect SIM cards. I have dragged my computer through countless airports. Sometimes I reflect on the fact that even 5 years ago, laptops were commonly bound by endless wireless and had to be plugged into telephone lines. Now they are every day fare - more ordinary than tuna sandwiches. They are the prerogative of twenty somethings and people who live life on the run. Somehow, without meaning to, I have become one of those people.

And now I am headed home - back to America, back to my 'place in the world' - in some ways to measure what I have become in this last year against what I was and where I have come from. Familiar place - yes, but daunting none the less. What will I discover about myself? Will I do odd things without even thinking about them? Will I find the materialism of America gross and unwieldy? Or will I dive right back without a second thought in after so longing for the abundance of American capitalism - ie...Wal-Mart? Will my family see me through new eyes? Will I find my world has stayed the same and I have changed???? In the words of Michael Card, 'Sometimes the questions tell us more than the answers ever could...'

Corban

My cat Corban is MIA (or maybe AWOL - not quite sure). I left my house on Friday morning, November 14th. He was sleeping quietly on my bed (really his bed) and appeared to be fine. My neighbor called on Saturday night to stay they hadn't seen him. I had some unexpected guests who left on Friday afternoon and he may have ducked out the door when they were not looking. In any event, he is missing and I am bereaved. He is a very special cat (in more ways than one) and I miss him terribly. Please pray that he comes home safe and intact.

Continent Hopping

Just wanted to let you know of recent events. I am currently staying in Islamabad due to the security situation in Peshawar (translate that to Peshawar is not exactly giving warm fuzzies to ex-pats at the moment). I will be leaving for Dubai on November 30th and staying for couple of days doing medical appointments. Then the real fun begins. I am going home for Christmas!!!!!!!!!!! I will be leaving Dubai on December 5th and flying into Houston. After a couple of days in Houston, I will be staying with my mother and my brother's family near the San Antonio area. I want to use this trip to rest and to re-connect with my family and friends. Please pray for me as I travel and sleep in many different places. "I'll be home for Christmas...." God has given me korban (a special blessing) with this trip.

Obituary for Tuesday Walker

Tuesday Walker, of Dilley, Texas, died Sunday, November 24, 2008. He was born in August 1997 in Calallen, Texas. He was adopted by his human, Rebecca, on October 21, 1997. This date thereafter was always celebrated as his birthday. He was my cat for 10 years and for the last year had lived with my mother, Joy Walker, in Dilley, Texas. He was a great cat - warm, affectionate, and loving. He was a red tabby - a common breed with an uncommon heart. He was a creature of habit - much to the amusement of the humans he lived with. He arose for breakfast between 6 and 8 am. After some quality time with his human, he would retire to a high place (a closet shelf or the like) for a long serious cat nap. Periodally he would wake up and check on his human (assuring himself that they were still around to feed him) and then return to dozing. He almost always put himself to bed about 9:00 pm and encouraged his human to follow the same schedule. He was a magnificant cat and will be sorely missed. He is preceded in death by his brother, Monday Walker. He is survived by his humans, Rebecca Walker and Joy Walker.

Home

Dear Friends,

I am home from Kabul. By the time I left, we had three major security incidents, one earthquake tremor, and I came home with ghardia (nasty little stomach thing - had to take at least one souvenir home from AF). As for redemption, it didn't happen (see post below). It will still take a Mighty Thundering Voice to get me back to Kabul - and He will have to send a chariot of fire to collect me. On a positive note, there were some good things. I got to spend quality time with my friend. It meant a lot to her that I was there - and she expressed this in words that almost made me cry. I also made some new friends - a couple with two children who will be living in Kabul, a retired English lady who lived in Kabul for 16 years and tells the most fascinating stories, and another British girl who does psychological assessments of communities. And finally, being in Kubal made me come to see how much I have come to call Pakistan home. I am so happy to be home - for many reasons but mostly just because it is home. As Dorthory says, there's no place like home. Of course, she was referring to Kanasas but I am sure she would have like Pakistan - I do.

New List

I am a list person. Usually I make lists of things I need to do, things I need, etc. But I am starting another one - places I will never vacation again. So far I have one entry on my list - Kabul. Just in time for true confessions, I am here right now. So this vacation is not yet over - there is time for redemption but I am doubtful. I have been here a week tomorrow. I came for a wedding and a conference. The wedding has not happened yet and the conference is cancelled. I am on lock down at the guesthouse where I am staying because there have been two major security incidents in less than a week. The final straw came a little before 6 this morning. I was roused out of a sound sleep to feel the bed shaking. In a haze of sleep, I thought it was near neighbors dragging their luggage down the stairs. Then I thought my cat (safely in Pakistan at the moment) had jumped on the bed. Then I heard the word 'earthquake.' Fortunately, it was just a tremor but it was enough to make me decide that I am never coming back here again - sans a word from God and a flaming chariot to get me here. Someone commented to me before I came that Afghanistan has a mystique about it - well, I am still waiting to feel the mystique - hopefully sometime before the next earthquake hits.

A Year in Repose

I have been thinking about this post for a while. I have an anniversary pending. On November 1st, I will have lived in Pakistan for 1 year. On November 1, 2007, I arrived in Pakistan. There were so many unknowns - where I would live, how I would do with the language, who my new friends would be.... At the age of 36, I was starting over again. I had moved many times but always within America, never internationally. So, in this life filled with adventures, this was a new one, unlike nothing I had ever done before.

So, in repose, how has the year been? It has been hard in some ways. I have come to accept that I live in a place where stepping outside my own front door is always a risk. I have come to accept that there will always be a gender divide in this place. I have learned to hope that someday it will not be as great as it is now. I have learned where the streets go - at least some of them. Stephen King said, "A place is yours when you know where all the roads go." This place is not fully mine, but enshallah, one day it will be. I have learned how to tell a taxi driver to go strait. I have learned to miss my new language, even as badly as I speak it, when I travel. I have learned to bargain and to walk away when I don't get the price I want. I have learned to remember that one does not go strait to the final price - and sometimes a cup of tea is necessary before you do business. I have learned to wear a chuddar - and to love and to hate it. I love it in the winter when it is like wearing a big blanket. I love the safety of being able to cover my face when men stare. I hate it in the summer when sweat drips and I think of the freedom that men have from this. I hate it when it slips from my head at the most inconvenient times.

I have learned to love this people for their hospitality and their kindness to a stranger. I have cherished the words of the friend who said to me "you're part of our family now" on the first night we met. I have learned to appreciate, if not always understand, the interdependence that governs these complicated family relationships. I have to come to cherish the endless cups of tea and the special status of guest in their country.

I have learned to leave this place - and to live with the risk that someday, in minutes or hours, my world here might end. I have learned to travel - to deal with foreign currency, to hail taxis various parts of the world, to listen for the best places to shop, to wear what the natives wear so I will not be hailed immediately as a foreigner. All these things take skill and time to learn - and I have just begun.

But, today, I am a little homesick. I long for a place where the currency is green and white and I know the faces on the bills, a place where my language is accepted without question. I long to be in a place where my family doesn't worry about my safety, where I can look men in the eye and still be thought of as a good woman. This things are of my home, and while I have learned to love the soil upon which I now reside, a stranger still I am.

Christmas Wish List

Hey you all (ok, so it's a south of the mason-dixon line thing but you all is such a useful word!!!!!!!). I am just going to throw this out here. I am wishing for a Thanksgiving/Christmas package filled with things that I cannot get here (or things that are very hard to find) so that I can bake for Christmas. I have been hoarding things for several months now in anticipation of Christmas. If anyone wants to send me a package, here are some things I would love to get. I am also going to post this on my 'love to get' list on the side of the blog:

Spices: dill, nutmeg, cream of tartar, celery flakes

Food items: dried coconut, chocolate chips, white karo syrup, small marshmallows, unsweetened chocolate squares, Pepperidge Farm Butter Mints, fresh cranberries (these would be heaven), canned Mandarin oranges, pie filling (cherry, strawberry, and apricot), dried blueberries, canned pumpkin,

Peshawar In Pictures

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Peshawar in September

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September Women - Peshawar 2008

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The Old Place

The old place - a family term casually applied but with layers of connotations. It was after we moved that we began to call it this - descriptive in more ways than one. One way of acknowledging what we had left behind. A way of saying that we have moved forward into another life. The place where I grew up, where my roots are, shortly to be mine no more. After owning this land for more than 30 years, my mother is selling. I don't fault her at all - but I want to take a few minutes to grieve a little, for the good and the bad. Stephan King once said a place is yours when you know where all the roads go. I know where all the roads go, even now.

I was two years old when we moved to this 19 acres of farmland set in the middle of a field. I was thirteen when I left it forever. It is the first home that I remember and when I dream, I dream I am in this place. My parents moved an old farm house on the property and there my soul was born. The land was flat and boundaried by trees, with only one being on our land. It was not a pretty place, at least not in my mind. It was green in certain seasons but the land was too flat and the dirt too black for beauty. Cotton growing dirt - the edge of an old plantation, divided and conquered long before my time. So much history that I will never know but lingers there even now. Rumors of an old slave cemetery just across the fence on the back forty. Black and white communities still segregated - both in churches, neighborhoods, and ways of life. Is it any wonder that I grew up with such a keen sense of the past when all I had to do was step outside my door to take it in?

The land I loved, the house I hated. The house was old and broken even then. When I left for good in the 1980s, I had no regrets - only eagerness to be gone. How was I to know then that we would be last family to truly live in this old place of high ceiling and window weights? It was an abandonment of not only a physical place but of dreams. My mother's dream to re-create her farm-living childhood, mostly. It was her dream and my prison and I could not wait to leave. My regrets have come with the years, seeing something so broken and unable to right it. When I was old enough and free enough to drive, I would occasionally visit this broken down place - sometimes to take a few meager belongings that were left, to remember where I had come from but mostly to remind myself that I could leave again. Never again would it be my prison but then again, it would never be my home.

This place is also my greatest bond with my siblings. Our ties begun here and perhaps were the strongest they would ever be. I loved my siblings in this place, I hated them in this place. Never again would we live so closely under one roof. I took my sister's Barbie apart here (sheer maliciousness, I confess) and hid the pieces. Then I forgot where I put the pieces. It was here that I, at the age of four, danced in sheer joy that I would have another baby brother or sister. Her name was going to be Mary Elizabeth if it was a girl (it was a boy and his name is Daniel). The relationships with my parents were also formed here - relationships so complex it has taken a lifetime to unravel the threads and be grateful for the ties that bind. It was here that my independent spirit was born and my mother's words and my grandmother's love were poured into me.

It was in this place that my beloved puppy Butterscotch was run over by a car and I forever became a cat person in my grief. It was here that I learned to be a farm girl - watching my father strip the cow's teats of the final drops of milk, finding where the chickens hid the eggs, passing the corn on the highway, growing tall and golden. It would only be later that I learned to despise the 'country girl' and forever more I would claim to be a city girl. It was also here that I discovered the magical world of books and realized that they could take you anywhere you wanted to go and then beyond. Books were my earliest escape from this place and my final place of refuge even now - always reminding me that there was a world beyond this and if I dreamed hard enough, I can get there.

In the last years, this place was seldom on my mind - I had too much to do and had lived too many years beyond its narrow confines to truly say I missed it. But during the last year or so that I was in the States, I began to research my father's maternal family line. I discovered to my surprise that they had taken abode in two neighboring counties - Brazoria and Fort Bend Counties. My father's family had lived near Damon's Mound in Brazoria County after immigrating from Germany in the 1840s. The second generation moved to Fort Bend County. These people were pioneers in the truest sense of the world, coming to a land rife with hardship, torn with slavery, clearing brush to eke out a meager living on small farms. The land we owned was on the border between Matorgorda County and Wharton County. Wharton County was my mother's birthplace and where her roots are, even now. Matorgorda County was the place of my birth. In the final analysis, I spent my childhood in the geographical center of where my family tree intersected. Perhaps that was more than conidence - perhaps God had a plan all alone and it was not just a random house plucked in the middle of an ugly field.

I think on my deathbed I will think of this place and call it my place of belonging. For better or worse, my roots are deep in this black soil. May it bring joy and peace to those who now hold the title deed to so much more than just a plot of ground. To those of you who hold history in your hand - mine, my family's and the history of those who have come before - honor it always. Selah.

Events

Dear Friends and Family,

I am not sure who all reads this blog but for those of you who do... I am going to deviate a little from my usual normal 'light' stuff here.

The situation in this country and especially my city is getting really tense. There are army planes flying overhead at all hours of the day and night, reportedly on their way to engagements in Swat, Bara, and other places. There was an attack on a high ranking US consulate person earlier this week (this incident happened in my neighborhood). There are rumors of the 'T' forces sitting in the hills just waiting to take the city. Other ex-pats are beginning to leave the city because of the situation here - we had one family go last week and another family will be leaving shortly. In general, the situation is deteriorating very rapidly

So what can I do? What can you do? Pray - it is that simple and that complex. I would ask first of all that you pray as the Spirit directs you. Secondly, I would ask for your prayers that if I have to go, it will be done in safety and with order - not with haste and in fear. Also, please pray that if I have to go, I can take Korban. The furniture, kitchen tools, books - all that can be replaced. The cat cannot. Pray that God will bring good out of this situation for these people and this country that I am just beginning to love. Long term, I would ask that you pray that the HS will overcome this city and there will a wind of the Spirit seen, in might and power.

Blessings always,

Rebecca

Pumpkin Pancakes

Pumpkin Pancakes

1 1/4 cups white flour
2 tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon cloves
1 cup milk
6 tablespoons pureed pumpkin, fresh or canned
2 Tablespoons melted butter
1 egg

Whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, cinnamon, ground ginger, salt, nutmeg, and cloves. In a separate bowl, stir together milk, pumpkin, melted butter, and egg. Fold wet ingredients into dry ingredients. Melt some butter in a skillet over medium heat. Pour 1/4 cup batter for each pancake. Cook pancakes about 3 minutes per side; serve with butter and syrup. Makes 8 to 10 pancakes.

My notes: I used 3/4 cup white flour and 1/3 cup wheat flour. I reduced sugar to 1 TB. I used fresh pumpkin, well drained and pureed in a food processor.

Korban

OK - for those of you out there who have been dying for another Korban story - here goes. Just as an update, Korban is now 10 months old, growing and thriving. However, he recently had a very upsetting experience and it was all Mommie's fault!

As a favor, I offered to keep another Siamese cat for some friends who are on vacation. This cat is female and hails by the name of 'Peshu' - Yep, you guessed it -that is 'cat' in Pushtu. I call her 'Bul Peshu' - the 'other cat' in Pushtu. As I was to learn, maybe 'Bull' wasn't such a bad name for her. I was assured (and was really convinced) that that she was a wonderful cat and very good with people. Well, all of that was true - it was other cats she wasn't so good with. My first clue came after I placed her litter bowl (FYI - we don't use boxes here) next to Korban's. Instead of using her own toilet, she waltzed over to his bowl and proceeded with business. This was not a good sign but I took it philosophically - after all, this is only a cat hotel - she will be gone in a few weeks. Surely we can endure until then.

The next altercation came about midnight several nights ago. Korban was my room, tending to cat business (IE... hanging out and napping). I mistakenly left the bathroom door open and Bul Peshu sidled in. A moment or two later, Korban sat up and gave the obligatory hiss. You know, the one where they open their mouth and an Arabic vowel comes out. Bul Peshu didn't take too kindly to this. With a single bound, she leapt on the bed and proceeded to engage in a simple assault (cat style). Korban was moving as fast as he could but there wasn't a whole lot he could do. Not wanting to put my hands in a cat fight (even if one cat was not fighting back) I grabbed a pillow and whacked where I could. That cooled things off for a minute and I was able to get Korban out of harm's way. He immediately ran downstairs and did not reappear until the well into the next day. Smart kitty.

A few days later, I was fixing breakfast for them and I heard (pardon the pun) 'cat'erwauling. I arrived just in time to see my baby flying down the stairs with his tail about the size of a bottle brush. Needless to say, he was conspisipsouly absent for quite a while after that.

The final staking of territory came, however, on Thursday night. Korban, being the smart and intelligent cat that he is, was staying safely out of harm's way downstairs in the basement. During the middle of night, Bul Peshu staged an ambush. She made her way downstairs, found Korban, and between the two of them, made enough racket to wake my neighbors. Well, lest we (Korban and I) become a stench in in the neighbors' nostrils (and you know my country has enough bad smells as it is), something had to be done. Korban was living in fear, afraid to even come upstairs to eat. I do have to say Bul Peshu was being really systematic about this - first she ran him out of the bedroom, then down the stairs, and then she went after him in the basement of the house. This cat definitely had a plan. What a general she would have made!

What to do, what to do??? I called a another friend who had offered to keep Bul Peshu. She came and got Bul Peshu this morning, much to Korban's relief. He is still walking rather tentatively, looking over his shoulder now and then. But overall, he has had a very peaceful afternoon and seems to be recovering nicely. OK, lesson learned - don't be too quick to take on other people's children (or their cats) - it just might be more than you bargain for!

Random Acts of Kindness Received

I arrived back at home from Dubai last week. I want to tell you about the best day in Dubai. It was the last week of my stay there. A friend and I rented a car and drove to the beach in one of the other Emirates - Fujairah. I drove as the car was automatic and they drive on the CORRECT side of the road there. Fujairah was about two hours away and a pleasant drive. We hung out on the beach at the Hilton (for a small fee) and spend the day contemplating the waves, enjoying each other's company and just generally hanging out. After we had supper at the Hilton. It was such a perfect day!

Ok, I have to comment on the driving. Driving in Dubai was like coming home to heaven - Houston by name. The roads were filled with construction, the drivers were crazy, and the exit signs change by the day. Oh, how I have missed that place!!! I have not driven at all in my country - 7 months of smiling politely and saying thank you to friends, a myriad assortment of taxi and rickshaw drivers, and sometimes nice strangers who offer a ride - yes, I have taken a few of those. Ok, I am going to chase a rabbit here. It was December 24th and a friend and I were attempting to shop - me for Christmas presents (oh, oh, how the organized have fallen!) and her for - well, I don't remember. Anyway, we didn't know the way to a certain store - Jan's Arcade by name. The rickshaw driver was getting frustrated and we were beginning to feeling like stupid white women (no comments on that one, please!). So my friend goes in a store to ask the way to Jan's Arcade. Out she comes with a very -sweet Pakistani lady who was talking a mile a minute and playing 20 Questions x 100. Fortunely, all this was in English or I might still be playing 20 Questions. The upshot of all this was the lady felt sorry for us and offered to let her driver take us to our store of choice after he dropped her off at home. Without further ado I climbed out of the rickshaw and into the car with this woman whom I have never seen before or since. It was a very pleasant ride and we got where we needed to go. Perhaps she was an angel in disguise - I suppose I shall never know. In any case, I am grateful for that act of kindness. If I had my own car here and the measure of independence that I enjoyed in the States, I would never have experienced the kindness and generosity of this person.

Recently, while on vacation in Hunza, my friend Leah and I were hiking the two hours down the mountain to get something to eat in the village. A van with several people pulls up beside us and motions for us to get in. Again, without further prompting, we hop in. Something I would never do in America - I was always Miss Cautious and certainly Ms. In Control there! But here it is different - come visit me and we will go to the roof of the world and catch rides down the mountain with kind strangers! One of these days, I might even try hitchhiking! Humm, I wonder what it would be like to hitchhike in a burka???? Just kidding!!!

P.S. I will be posting some Smileboxes with pictures of the Dubai vacation shortly - stay tuned for sand and surf!