It was an outstanding day of clinic today full of satisfying opportunities that played to my strengths, nursing and otherwise.  Samuel was back with me as interpreter unless discretion was necessary and then my Rachel came to my rescue. 

My tiny Maasai warriors were my heartbeat today. 3ft tall rocking their shukas, some with a tiny staff as tall as they. My one was the son of our security guard and clung close his papa as a mini mimic. I smile as I imagine how precious he must be in his ‘unguarded’ moments.

I was blessed with being of service to a 7 month pregnant Mama of 5 who is dehydrated. I gave her a place to lie down and started her IV, checking on her between patients. I miss starting IVs. It was once my superpower and the thrill of riding that bicycle lives on.

Our sick baby from yesterday returned for another round of antibiotics. She clung to her mama, of course, but was less volatile. I gave her shots in her legs and sent her home with ice bags to ease her discomfort. I suspect she will make a fine recovery.

As clinic ends, an after-party pops up in the lobby vibrates with the laughing joy of the young Maasai interpreters teaching our young Arizonians how to jump like true Maasai warriors. S and  are impressive as they tower above their Maasai counterparts. B adds his skill with his round-off, spinning handstands and double jointed shoulder feats amid well earned accolades of wonder.  

The smell of rain fills the air as the storm rapidly approaching sends it’s thunder ahead. The sun behind me, the storm ahead sparks a rainbow, a clear line in the sky between.

A motorcycle bearing two riders, revs it’s motor in the direction of the sun to try to beat the pelting. The Maasai passenger realizing the futility, covers his head with his red plaid shuka and ducks behind the driver. I flashback to my own self on the back of our Harley riding home in a monsoon. I can feel the sharp stinging even now.

The wind whips itself and the deluge into a frenzy as we are overtaken with its bluster. The sunny sky becomes a memory but is replaced with dancing and singing in the rain back at the hotel. It’s cool freshness washes our sweat and cares away.

TanzaniAnne 

After a restless night of revisiting past dreams and being visited by Montezuma, I awaken feeling stronger but hesitant to commit to all in at clinic. Somehow I know that when I am busy seeing patients my hesitations will fall away so I decide to fake it til I make it and it works.

We hold clinic today in the open air courtyard of one of the hospital buildings. It is a short ride from our guesthouse. I think I understand  that Dr. Frank runs the place. He was on hand for the birth yesterday and he is to be my go to for issues above my pay grade. He is a young, handsome man with a soft spirit and a warm, welcoming smile. Upon my arrival he introduces himself to me having noticed I am new today. I feel instantly seen and valued. It is a lovely beginning.

I begin with Sam as my interpreter. He is attentive and gentle but soon replaces himself out of sensitivity for the parade of female patients who would rather not share through him. Rachel becomes my gift. She is 21 yo darling who is kind, positive and very effective. We spend the day busy to the end.

Many of our girls have urinary tract infections which incidentally is one of my superpowers of late. My patients come in their colorfully patterned traditional shukas. Their faces are unreadable until their names are spoken. Smiles transform their quiet beauty to brilliance.

I am called on to start a baby IV. As her providers, Dr. Frank among them, discuss how to proceed, I spend my time trying to win her allegiance and her tranquility. Her mama appears to trust me immediately as she joins me in my quest. I sing to our baby and rub her back. I make a balloon out of a glove. She is secure in her mother’s arms but still refuses to be comforted. When the time arrives to look for an IV site, she continues to cry but gives me no resistance. In the nick of time, Dr. Frank decides to give the medicine another way and I am released back into the wild.

Among my favorite patients, who are not the babies ;), are the somewhat ancient Maasai warriors proving age can be a state of mind. Isaya is 96. He is a towering man in his red plaid warrior threads and has a large knife tied to his right hip. He has left his chief’s staff at the door, I notice later. His ears show the traditional large, stretched holes in the earlobe and his cheeks bear the mark of the Maasai. These marks are made on their cheeks when they are about 7 years old and this is how they recognize each other. He is missing the center bottom incisor as well.

He comes to me later in the day but any hint of my fatigue is completely forgotten when he smiles at me and takes my hands in his as I greet him with Jambo! Jambo is Swahili and not Maasai but he allows me my ignorance. He has the low pulse and blood pressure of an athlete and is pleased when I tell him this. He has walked 3 km to come here and his only complaint is an aching back and eye fatigue from the sun. He is a role model for us all.

There is an 80 year old grandmother who has brought her son’s two little ones. She is a tiny woman though obviously large in the eyes of the kids.  They cling to her in trusting expectation and the trio is my sweetness and light.

There are so many simple, invigorating aspects to this day. Though I started with hesitation, I end with renewed confidence. I have been called, equipped and covered with the generosity, kindness and gratitude of all those who have been sent to me as I have been sent to them. It is the lovely twirling dance designed by God, Himself. For God so loved the world that He gave…and in giving and receiving, I honor Him.

TanzaniAnne

March 3, 2025

We land at Kilimanjaro Airport in the dark, stars shining and walk the breezy path from the plane to the ‘terminal’. It is a wonder to be back. The umbrella trees lit by ground lights, create a soft, lovely beginning. Upon emerging from customs, all fatigue washes away when I see the radiant, familiar smiles of my friends Pastor Peter and his wife, Nashipai.  They greet me with the warmth of long separated friends and when Nashipai asks about Joe, I am undone. Gratitude overwhelms me. Being remembered is one of my favorite things. I love this family of God. I am so blessed already.

March 4, 2025

The morning comes with the clouds and the freshness of the early morning breeze. We spent the night in Arusha and embark for Ketumbeine early. Several of us become sick on the way, requiring wardrobe changes. I am among them. I spend the next 12 hours in unwilling collaboration with Montezuma and his revengeful migraine. It is obviously not my preferred beginning but does lend itself to open dialogue with my Savior which is always a preferred beginning.

March 5 

I wake up keeping water down and in and my spirit rallies! 

The team is up and out to the clinic early having been invited to witness the birth of a baby. Mama is valiant and she and her boy are delivered beautifully and healthy by all reports. 

Indeed:

“A baby is God’s opinion 

” A baby is God’s opinion that the world should go on!”.         

Carl Sandburg

And now I agree as well. I am diminished but oh, so much better!

I spend the day back at the guest house recovering. There is a steady parade of sounds outside my window. The even footsteps of our circling security guard, the bleeting of the goats as they rummage about in the brush, the snorts of the donkeys who clean up, I suppose, after the goats. There are the hens who strut about with their short, quick steps and always intermixed, like a symphony conductor, is the constancy of the rooster crowing at the least provocation. I grew up thinking roosters greeted the dawn but, as it turns out, they are deplorably ignorant of time and spend the whole of their days greeting the dawn even after it is dusk. And then, in the late afternoon, there is the best sound of all as a little one’s voice rises above it all. She may be speaking  Swajili but I suspect she is too young for formal words. Though she is unseen by these eyes her chattering sweetness is the crowning glory of the parade.

I end the day feeling stronger. May He strengthen you in your inner being as well.

TanzaniAnne

March 3, 2025

My season of first reluctance slips in before every trip. It’s a kind of obstinate resistance hiding just beneath my breath:  Why am I here? Why have I come, again? What am I, was I, thinking? 

Today it takes the form of lament.

Every airline pilot I see sears me to my core with a depth of sadness I haven’t felt since… well, if I am honest, yesterday.  The loss of one of the last vestiges of Philip draws me to my edge. I come close to buckling under the weight of its heaviness but I push it away as I have become so skilled at doing.

I distract myself as I rummage endlessly for dropped and lost items trying to achieve some kind of comfort for the 8 hours ahead. My seat mates, much to my exclusion, chatter loudly at each other as if trying to form a familiarity not yet earned.

I don’t mind. Alone and unmoving in the darkness of my seat,  I stop resisting.

I bury my face in my sleeve as my floodgates open and the tears I have relegated to my hidden places flow in a hot torrent of messy fluid. My chest heaves, unseen by others, as wave after wave of unquenched lament takes possession. I plead for clarity. I beg for relief. I struggle to reconcile my emotions with my faith and scramble to understand how I could be here again. When I tire of the futility of my words, I give into my groaning, until I sleep.

I am shaken awake by the turbulence of the plane and I gasp as my stomach drops away.  There is a fierce roar outside my window and I wonder if I am imagining it until I involuntarily gasp at the plane’s continued lurching.

A line from a recent Bible study pops into my mind. Something about the difference between grumbling and groaning. I search for the idea while the winds howl outside.  Grumbling is  turning away from God. Groaning is running to God, trusting. 

The turbulence of the wind seems to mimic the turbulence of my soul and I actually smile at God’s clever gift. It’s not so much about the turbulence, it’s about Who I run to in the midst of it.

TanzaniAnne

March 3, 2025 

Jesus laments for you and with you by His Spirit. He is wading through the ocean of tears you cry to get to you…and give you a million reasons to trust Him and rejoice.   

J. Rothschild

Darlings,

I am boarding my first plane of several on my way to Tanzania, East Africa with Zoehopeglobal.com. Come along with me. I’ll be writing every day and posting when I am able.

This is a note I sent to a struggling friend, who has inspired me with her beauty as you also do:

Have you ever considered that you create beauty within others by simply being beautiful?

I believe that God wants to create beauty in each of us. This beauty truly begins with belief and continues our whole lives.

The beauty He calls us to is too great for our finite minds, so He creates it a little bit at a time with each day we encounter. He woos us to enter His beauty right where we are with the bag of troubles we have on our laps, and He promises to redeem all of it. He uses all that this world throws at us to make room within us so that His beauty can live there.

As Ephesians 3:14 tells us, He strengthens us in our inner beings through the power of His Holy Spirit so that Jesus can live at home in our hearts. And we will have been so enlarged by His work that we will be able to take in all the beauty that He is. It is then when His work within us is done, that we will live at home in His heart in heaven.

Even now, He is using your story to enlarge mine so that one day, I will be able to grasp how high, deep, wide, and long is the love of Jesus for me, us.  (Ephesians 3:18-19)

How marvelous that He is creating beauty in me because you have chosen to be beautiful in Him.

You are a gift.

Thank you, dear friend.

TanzaniAnne

March 2, 2025

My fear this morning has an almost magnetic quality, pulling me toward it, spiderwebbing me into its lair. I frantically search through all my wiles in an effort to push it away. I am desperate to bring a sense of my own power to my powerlessness as it ramps up and threatens to be my undoing.

Like a biological imperative, I want only to escape. My expanding tear soaked anxiety bubbles up from my chest into my throat, choking off my words.  It wants to erupt and blast my tension out into the room in a sort of frenzied attempt to control the fear through lack of control. I am a whirling dervish of quivering, as I vomit my angst on the floor.

I thank God that He does not leave me there, quivering and alone! Instead, He comes to the point of my need and whispers beneath my angst. “Shh, Do not fear for I AM with you.”
He softly continues: “My promises are true!”
“I AM a very present help in time of trouble!”
“I will deliver you .. you need not fear the terror of the night for I cover you; My faithfulness will be your shield.”

He is kind and reassuring. His voice rises as my fear retreats and He declares, “For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
“I promise,” He adds.

I sit huddled allowing His truth the sink in. And as my tilting world comes back to center, I find I can breathe deeply once again. Calming, He sends me to Genesis 28:20-22 and leaves His closing to Mr. Pink:

“May the
God of Grace
enlarge our hearts to receive
His grace
and may He
empower us to magnify
His grace
by refusing to defile it
with any of our own wretched additions.”
(like fear and all it’s adjacents, I add.)
*A.W. Pink*
(Gleanings in Genesis, p253)

Amen!
Anne
January 6, 2025

July 17, 2024

I am in Vegas and for the first time I am not being overwhelmed with the oppressive sadness of the always inside, artificial, recycled, false hope giving, substitutional beauty and emptiness of it all. 

It is an incredible lightness of being.  To smile at those who are with and around me. To marvel at all the vibrant colors, shapes and sizes of the people and buildings. To be present … I am aware of this obvious change in me but not how it came to be. I can’t seem to put my finger on how I am different than I once was.

As we were roaming the last days of the Mirage with all its garden splendor, my friend told me she read my book. She asked me where I find Jesus in Vegas. It took me several conversations to finish my answer because there was so much vying for our attention.

There was a constant stream of people hoping for a last big payout promised by the closing casino. The few slot machines left were claimed by the hearty who showed no signs of leaving as they pressed on. It appeared that each machine would go blank and shut down once it vomited up its prize.  So many were already dark and abandoned, slot machines and players alike.

A wandering woman, in both body and expression, walked by us several times. She wore a lovely Derby worthy dress with flowers sewn into the neck line. I admired it every time she passed and finally stopped to tell her how lovely she looked. Her face transformed as only being caught being beautiful can do. It was like her inner light sparked on. She passed several times more with that same smile and nod.

I told my friend that in my experience of loss and trauma, any place of destitution, be it a tragedy, trauma or a place like Vegas, Jesus can be found in the unexpected kindnesses we encounter. He is always especially there. The times of simplicity when our downward gaze is lifted up and off of ourselves. The times when we feel seen for who we are, valued and beautiful.

God uses these sometimes interruptive times to woo us to Him, bringing us to the choice we are always given. Will we choose His fresh, authentic, hopeful beauty or turn our eyes to the artificial, fleeting promise of self sufficiency as we look  elsewhere for meaning. So my answer to her question: Where do I find Jesus in self-acclaimed Sin City? I look for the light of kindness. He is always there.

As I finished what I considered was my inadequately presented theology, my friend summarized my words.  “So it’s like what you did with that woman.”

She stunned me with her words and I was even a bit disoriented. My attention had been focused on giving a thoughtful response. I had not expected my words to be validated so immediately and certainly not by my own self. It took a moment for it to sink in. 
My unexpected kindness to the woman became an unexpected kindness for myself. It was now I who smiled and nodded. My friend had heard not only my words but had seen my heart as well. It’s the ripple effect of a sort. I feel seen and valued which then empowers me to see and value others. This is the way of Jesus.

AMRB/JCIM
Las Vegas in July

I’m ready to be home until I sit by the lake. I sit in the breezing under the towering, sweet smelling trees with their concert of fluttering leaves and their sign language clapping in agreement of this glorious day.

I breathe in the clarity. I delight in the trilling birdsong and I rest in the beauty of my I AM. 

Rock Pond did not go as I had hoped though I did not realize I had hoped for anything until it was over. 

It seems I had been hoping for resolution and rest; a sort of satisfaction in the letting go and the taking up of the shared memories of my exceptional people with my exceptional people.

I had hoped that I might put at ease my inner stirring for meaning by the leaving behind ofà commemorations for each of them.

I had hoped to embrace Mr. Emerson’s apt eulogy and speak it into the breezing of this pond of childhood memories:

 “To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. 

This is to have succeeded.” 

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

But I was only one of many and a public speaker I have never been so I will sit here and redeem those hopes.

I arrived late having chosen Robert Frost’s Road not taken. My body betraying me with each labored breath and rib entanglement, though I did find many natural wonders along the way 

I would have liked more time to wander and feel and be. To look for Mr. Rabbit’s home as I did so long ago with 5 year old Scott and place his plaque above it in gratitude for his life. 

To find the large rock I decided was the pond’s namesake and watch, again, as Ross and Todd? set up an overnight fishing line they would never retrieve. 

To come alongside my Mama and observe with horror as she removed each porcupine quill from docile Muffin who knew his only salvation would come from her hands. 

To look up and see my Dad with his blue bucket hat and walking stick. I imagine now how he most assuredly had a depth and richness of an inner life he shared only in the quoting of his beloved artists and writers. It would please him that Sally and I took the road less taken to get here even if it did cause worry and panic among the ranks.

Here’s to you, Daddie Man, you were never an island though I often wonder if you thought you were. I am so pleased to have joined in the bringing of your continent, your community, back to this place, again in gratitude for your life and the life of our boys.

Here’s to you Mrs. Robinson who made it all possible.

And here’s to us: 

Braudt’s, Callahan’s, Carbonaro’s, Heimerle’s, Herrmann’s, Hoover’s, Knox, Kuras’ and Robinson’s.

It is good to be under the towering, sweet breezy covering of our family tree.

AMRB/JCIM

July, 2024

The pups awoke this morning with a vivid jig in their step somehow knowing it was cool and breezy outside, their favorite kind of day. By the time I got to the living room, they had torn apart a pillow and along with my fur lined luxury tile, there were mounds of fluff from the pillow, a cacophony of mayhem. I knew a muddy day was in our future because that kind of energy cannot be contained. It was clearly a stark, unavoidable necessity for which, fortunately, I had ample time.

On this overcast, breezy day I took the dogs to the water. Usko, who was born a light golden sweet color, was soon striped and smeared with the dark sticky muck of the canal, unrecognizable from the pale yellow in which he arrived.
There is icky and then there is the deep odiferous wallow of the bottom dwelling muck, icky. The ride home would be an all windows down sort of affair.

They galloped through the shallow water with their matchless vigor and delight. Biting and tussling with one another, multitasking as only a pack of puppies can do. The glee of their movements was contagious and invigorating.

Eventually, it came time to disem”bark”. I should learn not to wait until I am done before I pack them up because the energy to pack them up undoes all that went before.
Like exhausted toddlers, they resisted arrest as they went running toward the car home and then passed it in pursuit of their newfound semi truck prey.

But it’s all good, like Steinbeck once said,
“I knew they had made me feel better and surer.” despite of the prospect of the demudifying to come.


Anne/JCIM
5/2024

There are these two remarkable women in my life whom I admire as I marvel at how they can keep such a lovely, ordered home. Hard as I try, I cannot achieve, let alone maintain, one. There is dirt and dust and disrepair everywhere, even before puppies. I can barely manage the clutter alone. True, complete cleaning seems unachievable for me. I have to put up boundaries to avoid getting lost in the minutiae because there is always more to clean.

And the messiness extends beyond my physical house. My body is a mess, unpredictable and difficult at times. Headaches, pains, GI spontaneity at the most inconvenient times.

My mind is a close third of a mess. Messy relationships, grief, the unrelenting, erratic complications of being and the compounding cluttering of my state of mind…

Thank God I am not left alone in this disarray of a life. My God is a God Who chose this messiness so He could walk alongside me in mine; so that He could redeem my mess and turn it into His beauty.

My life mimics His work. I’m unable to clean myself enough, like my house, but He does not require me to succeed in that. He only asks me to believe that He can. I am clean the moment I believe Jesus. Once I believe, He tidies up my life one erratic complication of being at a time, creating beauty in me.

Like He told Peter in John 13:10, “Those who have had a bath need only wash their feet; their whole body is clean.”

My earthly house will never be as clean as I might want, but my life is being renewed with each cry of my heart for His provision. He promises beauty will emerge from this mess and He always keeps His promises. Thank God!

Anne/JCIM

April, 2024

8 Jesus answered, ” unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” 9 ” Then, Lord,” Simon Peter replied, “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well.” 10 Jesus answered,” those who have had a bath need only wash their feet; their whole body is clean.”

John 13:8-10