i took a picture.


the day started out normally enough, came into my blank office, waited for the generator to be turned on, and then set about my various tasks for the day. (mostly involving money today. budget, or lack thereof…)

it was a quiet morning–and i got everything i wanted to accomplished. it was nice.

then i went home for lunch and apparently accidently tripped the “now everything will go all pear shaped” button.

when i came back to my office there was a bat hanging around.
in my office.
no one else was around to help me (way to be on time, american…) so i used karen blixen’s words (shoo!) to get it out of my office.

i wish i could tell you that i was very brave and went in with arms going like a windmill to scare the poor creature out, or that i had caught it somehow and released it, but alas i am not that brave.

i opened my door, saw the bat, and closed my door.
i went outside to observe the situation from a safe distance through my window (which was open, hence the bat) and to take a picture. (to be posted later, i forgot my camera cord this afternoon. drat!)

then it innocently flew out of my office through the window and away.
no ribbons for me.


its a bat.

its a bat.




about 10 minutes later (still before anyone else had shown up for the afternoon) i heard a goat… uh… bray? squawk? what word does one use to describe the sound of a goat?
anyway, i heard a goat.
then i heard it again and thought, “my, thats very close.” and then i looked up from what i was doing to see the goat standing in my doorway.

a large she-goat, who clearly needs milked (or to find her babies) was standing in my doorway, telling me all about it. loudly. i let her stand there for a while, listening to her plight but then nicely asked her to leave.

that didn’t work. so i had to get up,
take her by the rope tied around her neck,
and show her the door.
(after i took her picture.)

she seemed to take it well.


mamma goat not unlike adventure goat...

mamma goat not unlike adventure goat...




then, about an hour later (after everyone had finally arrived back at work for the afternoon) i was typing furiously away to the scripture union people in uganda when i heard an awful crunching noise- like a car crash.

so i lept up from my computer (lept might be a strong word…)and went to look out my window.

i discovered a large transfer truck (semi-truck) that had backed against the ramp outside my office. it was backed up against the ramp to deliever a vehicle.

now, here’s the thing.
this is a regular semi we’re talking about here.
like the kind you see on the highways in the states. and they put a land crusier in it…
and they had clearly used a different sort of ramp to get said land cruiser into the truck (if one at all) and were having a very difficult time getting it out. actually, i’m not sure they actually got it out–it was rather stuck–rather wedged–in the truck.

i took a picture.


truck in a truck, kind of like a nesting doll...

truck in a truck, kind of like a nesting doll...


and yet another view of the community gathering around, like any community would do…


it was really stuck

it was really stuck





and will hopefully update this post with said pictures tomorrow.


2 thoughts on “i took a picture.

  1. Thera, you’ve captured exactly what it feels like–why doesn’t the world stop? When my father died, I joined my family in Alaska for a week, and then I went back to North Carolina where no one on the street knew my world had ended, and my work colleagues knew and expressed sympathy and then went on working. It was hard not to be angry at everyone for being so callous, but of course in our enlightened American culture we don’t wear black, or shave our heads, or wear an armband or do anything that many cultures do to alert others that we are grieving and need a particular kind of caring. So we’re alone, hidden. Then some of us do crazy things like move to the other side of the world where we feel alone a lot even when we’re not freshly aggrieved, so the alone-ness hits extra hard. Yup, it sucks. And yes, God is still with us and the inestimable loss of a beloved friend is neither willed nor desired by God. God grieves with us, and because we are more loved by God than we can ever know how to love each other, perhaps we should admit that God grieves more deeply, intensely, than we can ever experience. Imagine such love.

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