October & November
I’ll remember 2026 as my year of travel: Mexico in January; the Midwest in June and July; Victoria, BC, in early October; and East Africa in late October and early November. By the time you read this, I’ll be winging my way to Burundi for the second time, traveling through Amsterdam and Rwanda. My road-trip cousin Linda is joining me as my roommate. We’re part of a team from Portola Valley Presbyterian Church and African Road o a learning trip.
What stays with me from my first trip in 2015 isn’t the black SUVs with right-hand-drives that dodged potholes the size of kiddie pools as we left our Bujumbura hotel. It isn’t the cyclists balancing mattresses stacked like pancakes, either. Traveling with then Associate Pastor Jenny, my roommate Maggie, and African Road colleague Kelly Bean made the journey feel like a memorable girls’ road trip. (I’ll travel with Jenny and Kelly again this time.) But what still brings me to tears is meeting the Batwa people in the Burundi’s hills. These Indigenous people had been driven from the rain forests they loved and were living in poverty unlike anything I had witnessed, despite years of work in inner cities and rural communities. Yet they welcomed us with grace. Through translators, they thanked us for coming so far, told us they prayed for us, and invited us to dance. Whatever we said, they responded with soft applause, like rain on a shake roof. They welcomed us into eucalyptus-thatched homes, showed us the small fires they cooked over, and introduced us to their children. We told Evariste—our liaison, a champion of his people, and now our friend—that the villagers needed rice, better shelter, and far more than identity cards. He knew that first they needed dignity. Without an identity card, they could not receive medical care, marry, baptize their children, vote, or pursue their dreams.
This trip will help us learn more about our partnership with three Batwa villages, a relationship that began with that first journey. Jerry and I joined many others in donating, supporting learning trips, and helping fund the education of our liaison’s spouse. According to Global Finance Magazine, the Batwa are the poorest people in the world’s poorest country. We’ll see the progress they’ve made growing food on land we purchased for them. Our support also provides uniforms and books, allowing more children than ever to attend school, and the villagers are healthier. In a video, one woman said she had gone an entire year without attending a funeral. A man said government officials no longer harass him as he walks because he has an identity card. He is a citizen.
I’ve had my vaccinations and packed malaria-prevention pills and a broad-spectrum antibiotic. My doctor was initially reluctant, warning, “You don’t want to die in Burundi.” I told her I had to die somewhere, so why not among friends? I’m also bringing children’s books from a free-book day in Redmond sponsored by Herringbone Books and the Ignite Empowerment Foundation. The line was so long that I thought I had arrived at a rock festival. Thousands of books were given away. When I shared my plans, author Amanda Dykes sent several paperbacks of her new children’s book, The Lamplighter, and other friends asked their children to choose favorite books for the trip. Still others contributed to a Goodness Fund that will support the needs identified by people on the ground. It will be a grand adventure, and I’ll tell you how it goes. Prayers for safe travel are welcome.
Beyond the Breaking Waves
It’s getting closer! The back-cover copy for Beyond the Breaking Waves has been approved, and I thought you might enjoy reading it.
Community, Faith, and New Beginnings Collide in This Immersive Novel of Pioneer Life
On the rugged Oregon coast, mail carrier Mary Gerritse is no stranger to hardship. Her daughter has betrayed her, her husband has escaped to sea, and fresh sorrow weighs on her heart. When Mary rescues a stranger at the breaking waves, his talk of petroleum investments begins to sound like providence. Hoping to secure her family’s future while her husband is away—and ease her grief—she mortgages their property and places her trust in the promised fortune.
The hope of family reconciliation brings Mary joy, but the investment soon falters, her husband falls ill, and sorrow closes in. The women around her, each carrying burdens of her own, become a steadfast refuge. Together, they find the hope and strength to endure an uncertain future. Then a new opportunity within the community offers Mary what she longs for most: a reunited family, adventure, and a chance to help others flourish.
A Small Panic Attack
The trip to Canada was a chance to relax with friends. We visited Butchart Gardens and the town of Sidney, walked, talked, napped, and read. On our final night, we attended an IMAX screening of a restored version of Queen: Budapest, the band’s landmark 1986 concert. Filmed in 35mm and remastered with crystal-clear images and sound, it was astonishing to see Freddie Mercury on a six-story screen and hear his voice in surround sound. Polite Canadians and a few tourists packed the house. It was a wonderful evening, with a few tears, because Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody had comforted Jerry on his final day. Back at the condo, I read for a while before turning out the light in the room I shared with my friend Susan. Around 4:30 I woke up and opened my iPhone to read. I put my glasses on—and could see nothing. Everything was wildly blurred. Had the enormous screen affected my cataracts? Could I schedule surgery before Burundi?
Trying not to wake Susan, I found my computer glasses and went to the living room. I could read with them, so something had clearly happened to my everyday pair. I cleaned those glasses and tried again. Still a blur. My distance vision seemed gone. I had already had three eye exams since April and returned three new pairs that never gave me the clarity I needed. Would I need another exam? I couldn’t call the ophthalmologist until 8:00am. I was still in Canada—a ferry ride and ten hours from home. New glasses could not arrive before my departure.
Help! I prayed and went back to bed. Around seven, I reached for the glasses again without turning on the light. This time, I felt two pairs on the nightstand, even though I had put my second pair away. I sat up and switched on the light. A miracle: I had been wearing Susan’s glasses. My eyes and glasses are fine. “Hallelujah” and “We Are the Champions” played in my head. Perhaps the real lesson is “Don’t panic” about things. Take a minute. Get some ligt on the problems. And in my dotage, remember to turn on the light when I wake at 4:30 a.m.
Word Whisperings
Careless People: Power. Greed. Madness.
by Sarah Wynn-Williams
Flatiron Books, Macmillan, 2025
This was the book I reached for when my vision blurred. It’s a page-turning insider’s account of Facebook’s early years and of the author’s belief that its technology could serve the public good. She created a role she hoped would help Facebook make a positive difference, only to discover that doing good was not the company’s true goal.
The New Zealander’s account of that disillusionment is mesmerizing. She changed, too, nearly losing her life, marriage, and ethics while trying to persuade Mark Zuckerberg and Sheryl Sandberg to embrace a different vision. One reviewer called it the book Zuckerberg doesn’t want people to read, describing its executives as “flawed, awkward and hypocritical humans.” The author is as compelling as the people she writes about. Her drive to succeed was so intense that she answered work email with her feet in the stirrups before giving birth. Her later complications and an earlier near-fatal shark attack add depth to the memoir. At heart, this is a story about how misplaced priorities—work over family, money and power over ethics—can reshape a soul. It also made me reconsider my own use of social media. Facebook and Instagram help me connect with readers, share photographs and short essays, and connect to family watching videos of my great-grandchildren. Yet staying on platforms linked to deliberate misinformation, the targeting of teenagers and other vulnerable groups, the sharing of user data with authoritarian regimes, and a reluctance to remove hate speech or calls to violence, can make me complicit. Am I overlooking that harm because the platforms may help me sell books? I have some soul-searching to do. Kafka wrote, “A book should be an axe to the frozen sea within us.” This book was an axe for me.
Events
Look for events next spring. After I return from Africa, Rupie and I will head to California for one final season. I plan to sell the lovely place in Rancho Mirage that kept Jerry warm during the winters. It holds wonderful memories, but I never volunteer or become involved there because I tell myself, “I’ll only be here a few months.” Sadly, I say the same thing in Oregon. I’ve decided that if I want to keep blooming, I need to choose one place to put down roots. Central Oregon is where my heart is.
Rupie's Renderings
I’ve lost half a pound on the gulp-free diet my mom put me on. Then she went away for a week, and I slept with another woman. Her name is Lorraine, and she was very good to me. She threw the ball even though her shoulder hurt and took me on lots of walks. Now Mom is back. I’m glad, but I don’t want her to know it. She should pay for leaving me, right? So I refuse to come when she calls. When she gets out the leash, I look away—even though I really, really want a walk. Eventually, I give in. She always outwaits me. When she talks on the phone, I bark and bark unless we’re outside, but it’s getting too brisk to sit on the patio, even with the cool view. This morning Mom said it was 27 degrees.
I have no idea what that means, but she tells me things all the time that mean nothing to me, like “The Packers won!” What’s a packer? She did tell me that she is going away again. That means something. I’ll have a new woman to flirt with. She said she’s going to see people who visited my mom and dad last year. Evariste and Grace came on the day I had my first plane ride and my dad had his last one. They were flying back to Africa and wanted to see my mom and dad before they left. I like them. Still, I’ll have to think of ways to make my mom pay when she gets back, right? Or maybe I’ll be happy rather than being right. Woof! Woof!
Events
Meeting our First Presbyterian commitment to the Batwa villagers—“the least of these”—is part of how I see Spacious Christianity working in the world. We raise $18,000 each year for seeds, new identity cards, school uniforms and fees, health cards, and other needs helping villagers move toward self-sufficiency. Through prayer, grace, and generous friends from across the country, we have met that commitment. The word commitment in the first century was a banking term. It meant “to make a deposit against which you can later draw.” I draw on that deposit because it has given my life meaning. Supporting the work there may be the most important thing I do. There is no pressure, but if you want to know more or wish to share in the joy of knowing your gifts have changed lives, visit www.bendfp.org/give and write “Burundi” in the memo line. Or visit www.africanroad.org/donate. African Road, our nonprofit partner in Portland, is organizing this trip and others in the future. Perhaps you’ll want to come along one day. Just imagine what doors may open. Have a great month.
Enjoy All Saints Day and Thanksgiving. I’ll see you again in December. Thank you for making room in your lives for my stories.
