Baptism, Uganda-style

Carol Asiimwe (Blessing) Dennison on the way to church with her mom and sister

The first baptizee (?) Ann-Grace--her godmother told me that she was hoping to drink the water!

A lit candle as part of baptism; a bit dicey with young children!

Mark giving Carol's name to the Bishop as he proceeds to baptize

Cake cutting after the service, an essential part of Ugandan functions

Speeches also essential (and must-have photographer on left)

Small cubes of cake delivered to the gathered invitees

At the end of the day; we realized that we had not taken a picture with Carol, our new goddaughter

A couple general thoughts about church, functions, community, etc....

1. For more liturgical folks, the Anglican church in Uganda is very low-church.  Many American anglicans come and are surprised (sometimes disappointed) at the practice of Ugandan anglicans. I won't go into it all now, but I felt the godparent vows would have definitely seemed less sacramental than many anglican liturgies in the US. 

2. For non-liturgical folks, the church does have more order, more hiearchy, more set prayers than most evangelical churches in America.  In these pictures, the bishop is the former bishop of Mukono and not shown is another former bishop who gave the sermon.  The hiearchy of the church and the colonizers tended to mesh with a generally hiearchical society in Uganda.  That said, I meant to include a  picture of some of the female clergy.  I don't know the origins of "gender balance" in Uganda but despite the patriarchal pattern, women are leaders in the church and in the government (that said, I don't think they can hold the highest positions)

3. For Western-society folks, there is a liturgy of "functions/events" in Ugandan culture (and my sister who is an ESL teacher says it is true for many traditional cultures).  There is food, cake, soda, music, speeches, and generally speaking "being together" for all of life's big moments.  If anyone wants to know the key to cross-cultural success, just be present at all events that you are invited to.  This may mean you are busy many weekends of the year! I won't elaborate, but needless to say this is not as easy as it may sound for task-oriented, intentionality-based relationships, efficiency driven schedules, individuality-based members of Western culture.   

4. Community: We teach a book where the author compares "I think therefore I am" to "I participate, therefore I am".   This is a pretty seriously different orientation on life and self-consciousness--one that plays out in relationships and religion.  

learning to walk

When Daniel was little, I remember someone saying, you must learn to fall in order to learn to walk.  And I remember another story of a girl with some disabilities (don't remember the exact nature of the disabilities), but they had to teach her not to fear falling... I think they had therapy for her in a bouncy castle or something.  

But it struck me then, as it does now, that all these milestones of young children or people with disabilities are basically metaphors of all of us in our life stages and developments.  

We all need to learn to fall/fail.  We all need to face fears and then when we are no longer afraid, we're more free to move forward or (bounce forward as the case may be).  And we all would do better if we had happy little friends (and parents) cheering us on!  

No one would look at a young child and curse them for now walking yet, or make them feel guilty for their fears... why do we not allow ourselves to fail as we get older; why do we not acknowledge our fears or ask more people for some cheerleading?  

Jean turns 1!

Jean and her dad, Ali!  Jean is the daughter of our nanny of 6+ years, Dorothy.  She is a delightful girl, beautiful, happy, clever, easy to please, quick to learn, the perfect "younger" sibling to temper our Rachel's baby-of-the-family status.


Here are some of our neighbors and friends helping Jean open her presents.  Jean is like, "what's this all about?"



I would say that having Jean and Dorothy so close to our family is a constant arena of "what's appropriate?" What does it mean that we have access to so much, materially, educationally, medically, etc, etc?  How do we share that in an appropriate manner but not disproportionally in regards to our other friends, employees, Ugandan community?  How do accept that our kids will grow up with vastly different opportunities than Dorothy's kids will have? And yet also I do not to condescend or pity a lifestyle that is full of joy, family, good meals, hard work, community--- Dorothy and Ali live with Dorothy's sister (who has her youngest with her now--Rogers is holding the blue bowl/toy in the photo).

So, mostly, I wing it.  And Mark is a good "temper-er" as I would tend to over-indulge and his rational and "fair" tendencies are pretty well in place.

Style, sadness and parenting

A bed by Rachel Bartels

Also a bed?  by Rachel Bartels

So, my youngest, Rachel will soon turn three.  And she is a really funny delightful little girl--at this stage in life those qualities are mostly evident to those who know her well.  No charm for the outsider.  As a matter of fact, outsider beware!  But she is starting to come into her own by personality and interests.  Mary, her elder by not much more than a year, has always loved art and beautiful things.  But  in the last several months, Rachel has begun to exhibit a distinct style.  I feel that it reminds me a little of my younger sister's artistic tendencies.  It is less narrative (than Mary's).  She is very bold in her composition and color choice.  She is very sure of what she's doing and is very sure of what her picture is--- I think this may be a "bed"?  I'm enjoying watching her because her personality is a bit less the sensitive-soul artist (Mary and me) and a little more confident and bold and could basically care less what anyone else has to say about her work (a favorite medium for Rachel is paint or markers on her body--- I was in a bookstore the other day and realized how much a part of African art the ceremonial body painting is and can't wait to share that all with her later)

sad faces

complete sadness picture by mary bartels (the person on the left is very sad)

On a related note, Mary is in fact the sensitive soul-searching artist.  We were sorting through some art works today and I said, "what are these" and Mary was sort of giggling and laughing.  "Oh, these were drawings I did when you made me sad." Yikes, rip my heart out, my Mary.  But then, I thought, no, "you go girl, you should be able to try and draw and let things out when you are sad."The blue heart shaped picture is a sort of redeemed "sad" picture... I guess Rachel had "ruined" something of Mary's and then Dorothy helped them convert it into this blue heart, smiling girl picture. And I find this aspect of art-making is also interesting.  Mary can get very upset when Rachel tries to "add" on to Mary's pieces.  And then Rachel can "act" very dejected and then various tears and compromises and scenarios.  But I can see both sides.  I definitely think art is a sort of personal, individual endeavor.  But I can see why its so beautiful and fun that you just want to join in, especially when your awesome older sister is so earnestly working away on something.  I think we've reached a means of communicating about when a piece is "mine" and when we're working together on something.

A funny side-note on the sensitive-souled-Mary is that I find it brings out different responses from me and Mark.  While I do feel for Mary's woes, I'm much more calloused and aware that those of us with tendencies towards emotional melodrama don't actually want to draw in our loved ones each time.  We want to feel the angst of the world, the sorrow of our singular loss in that moment; but it will also pass.  And I'm grateful to my mother who loved me in various means and ways, but also told me regularly, "you can go pout in your own room."  I think that worked for me and I hope it will work with Mary.  It is fair to feel very upset right now; I do not want to tell you how to feel and how to process it but you don't have to do it in my presence. :)  I guess its sort allowing the intensity of the emotion but helping protect the one in that moment from either manipulating or blaming or stealing all attention in the room.  

At Mary's age right now, I'm softer than I'm sounding-- I am also trying to teach her how to communicate what is wrong so that we can help or deal with whatever is troubling her.  But I feel like she's mostly relieved to be ignored when in fact the issue is relatively trivial or passing. 

The funny thing though is watching Mark---he is much quicker to run to her and cuddle her and make sure she's okay.  And I think that's also great; perhaps I'm just tired of the dramas and she does need a little more love.  Perhaps our love languages are different and what I assume to be "training her in emotional maturity" is not what she needs.  A little love and care from dad and she also seems to perk up and move on with life.  And this whole process has helped us see that we all in our ways are still children--we have our "moments" and its important to learn how to verbalize them, to learn when to take time and space away from the issue, and when to be near and accepting and loving so that the hurt person can feel secure and loved before moving on.  

Mark's birthday!

About a month ago, Daniel concluded that what Dad would like best for his birthday is money.  So, not quite clear from this photo but daniel was hiding in a box and jumped up with play-paper money as a surprise.

Mary's contribution to Mark's birthday was the idea that Dad likes cookies so a chocolate chip cookie cake was the best plan for him, and vanilla ice cream was the best plan for her.  You can't see it in this picture but Dorothy made a card for Mark, under the guise that it was from the girls illustrating it with an orange and blue American football.  I was pretty impressed!

My mom sent a "maps" calendar, and Daniel is showing him a Kids sports book from his school catalog thinking that Mark might like to buy that for himself for his birthday. 

Mark's dad is sending him the Broncos vs. Steelers game but not the Broncos vs. Patriots game.  Anyone following football will know why.  And I saved several M&M bags which had come with an Alabama friend-- pulled them out for birthday. Many who know Mark know that "consumable" items are a hit for celebrations. 

Not pictured here, Mark's USP staff bought him a perfect (yes, Rachel!:) Tim Buk 2 bag that will hold his laptop and various other items he tends to carry on his person (I think one of my first blogs was what I carry in my purse; not sure that Mark would appreciate a similar exposure)

We've had a nice dinner out with long-term Uganda friends not at UCU; we'll have an outing with UCU friends this weekend.  Basically a week of celebrating!

But gifts and celebrations aside, I'll take the date of his birth to publicly state that almost anyone who knows Mark well, in whatever role he has in their life would state his loyalty, his sense of duty, his secret softy side, his sense of humor, his logical rational mind, and his stability as defining marks of his character and compassion--in his relationships and in his worldview.  I can't express enough my gratitude to God for getting to live this life with Mark!  May God bless him in the year to come!

Missing the Buttons

Six things that made me think of the Buttons*

*Button family moved last June but had lived in Uganda the whole time that Mark and I have been in Uganda.  They are the godparents to our youngest, there children were like siblings to Daniel, more nights than I count were spent playing games and hanging out with the Buttons.  

1. I found this picture sometime recently; Abigail Button had painted it for us before they moved. Rosie, on my list this semester is framing the Blue Toracco that you painted for us. 

2. The bird bath were from the Buttons, the tree trunk was a shared treasure between our house and theirs.  Buttons, you''ll appreciate how this avocado tree is growing. 

3. Daniel and the Scully kids are playing american football with my dad.  If fun-loving ragamuffin Alex was here, he'd be right in the thick of that (might be a little banter about "america vs. england" spurred on by Mark, yikes, sorry!).  Thankfully, we hear that Alex is right in the thick of sports at his new school in England-- Alex is quite a bit like his father--resiliant, "extroverted" (yes, Dan, you are), loves a good game, curious and open to new things!

4. Two turtles are in there.  They are still here, Abigail!  The Button house was full of creatures who seemed to have a slightly longer life span than our "pets".  And Abigail was a good caretaker of small creatures... I know she was worried about the turtles...can't say that they are as loved as they were, but for now, they are still alive. 

5. Bottle-caps.  I don't precisely remember the origin of the collection... but i'm on a mission now to get them cleaned and sorted and turned into a wall mural or perhaps patio tiles with mosaic designs in them... will keep you posted.  But the project reminded me of you all!

6.  Art: Rosie and I did water-color painting in the years before I had the small girls.  And the Button household often had various arty projects in process.  We have a paper-mache volcano here waiting for vinegar and baking soda lava; but when we were making it Daniel referred to the multiple volcanos that we made at the Buttons house.  Our girls talk about missing Abigail because she liked art like they do.

Don't tell Daniel that I have broadcast this, but a couple months ago, he said, "I still dream about Alex".  Sigh, his first real idol! 

Anyway, I was pondering if this content was a more personal email or worthy of "blog" status but thought this was a chance to express that the origins of my "blogging" started as several friends began to blog about their transitions (to Uganda or away from Uganda) and I realized that I also wanted my friends and family to know about Uganda as it is happening.  

But also I was thinking that the blog is a slightly unique genre; it sort of forces an additional layer of reflection to the life that is otherwise flying by... it sort of helps give one pause to see the themes and big picture when you might otherwise tend be caught up in immediacy.  So, I thought our life with the Buttons is something I'm still processing (and grieving a bit! :); and they are part of a bigger picture of life overseas that basically means that most expatriates have another "home" and you're sort of sharing a period of life together in a unique foreignness.  

Rosie once compared life here to the show "Lost"-- and the question of whether we want to leave the "island" or return to the "island"?  Depends a bit on our characters, our circumstances, what we've left behind (in our home countries or on the "island").  

Well, Rosie, if this is too "public"... tell me... I think I can take it down!  But hopefully you are in a cold, cosy place feeling positively missed and appreciated.  And feel free to share with your kids. 

Why I don't draw

I often feel that people don't understand why those of us with artistic talent aren't running around capturing all the beautiful things around us; in some artistic form or other.

A friend gave me a book, "A Giacometti Portrait" by James Lord.

The author is posing for an artist and trying to recount the process and the psyche of the artist in midst of the artistic endeavor.

This description at the beginning rings very true to me.


Suddenly, he turned, went into the corner of the studio and started to rearrange the bronze figures standing there, which banged and clanged as they knocked against each other.  Nearly an hour had passed.  He seemed to be avoiding desperately the moment when he would have to start work on something new.  He is so poignantly aware of the difficulty of making visible to others his own vision of reality that he must be unnerved by the necessity of having to try to do it once more.  Thus, he would naturally delay as long as possible the decisive act of beginning."  


I'm usually fine to fiddle around on small "craftsier" things, even small "gifts" items, but I do have ideas almost every day that I qualify as more of my inner artistic impulse.  But it is safer to think that they "would" be awesome if I executed them but not actually go through the struggle of trying to express them and then fail at the endeavor.  I'm sure this is metaphorical of many aspects of life, but for this moment I'm appreciating this book and the reminder that art is a struggle--one that I might never be brave enough to pursue, or perhaps one that is waiting for me....

Runaway Bunny=Psalm 139

I was trying to make a powerpoint of an "encouragement"  I often try to give USP students in their first week in Uganda.  

The gist of it is that God knows them and loves them and will be with them, in the hardest moments and their highest moments.  

As I thought the "power point" was lacking in visualness (and still is-- draft form!), I included this picture and my long-standing association of the run-away bunny with Psalm 139. 

"Where can I flee from they spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to the heavens, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost sea, even there your hand shall lead me and your right hand shall hold me.  If I say, "surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night," even the darkness is not dark to you, the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is light with you." Psalm 139: 7-12

When Mark is gone...

Tonight involved an incident that was cause for some serious work, and then some reflection...

I was putting the kids to bed (see former post on this issue).  So kids were in bed and I was on my computer in their room while they sort of schlumped around... probably took them a good 20-30 minutes for them to knock off.

Well, a lot of water can run out of a toilet in 20-30 minutes.  Somehow that bobbing ball thing wasn't doing its job, and there was water flowing out of the hole of the toilet.  I mean flowing... I basically had half and inch of water in the bathroom, down the hall, all over the floor in our bedroom.  A royal pain in my bottom.   But after throwing down five towels and ringing them out for about 30 minutes, I came up with these various reasons I'm grateful.

1. My kids were asleep.
2. I was drying up "clean" water, not vomit, not pitchers of apple juice, etc.
3. I have concrete and tile floors.
4. I am physically able to clean up a serious mess.
5. Mark was not at home so I did not spout off and "blame" him for life's inevitable bobbing blunders
6. It is january in Uganda and the five sopping towels will dry in the sun tomorrow.
7. I have many things contained in plastic containers (under the bed); my dad was just commenting on the fact that we have toys/stuff in orderly containers.  Go OCD!
8.  The bookshelf I got recently has "feet" so the water did not get to the books in our room.

I do find that "things" seem to happen when one is a single parent.  And I think of single parents and know that they are often occupied with their child/children in such a fashion that they don't notice the water rolling down the hallway until its too late.  And they may not blame someone else; but I bet they are very, very tired.

And this incident doesn't compare with what happened to Mark last year when I travelled with my sister to help take her newly adopted daughter home to North Carolina.  Our beloved nanny was very pregnant and during my absence, Mark was working and watching kids at night.  One night, while I was gone, the labor began and Mark spent several days making sure that the delivery did not end up with death of mother or baby (more common here than you'd like), and that our children 6,3, and 2 were not total basket cases.   Meanwhile, I was cruising around Morehead city in my sister's car, picking up a caramel machiato-- trying to give my sister some time and space to bond and be in charge with her daughter in her home.

Anyway, I'm thankful to generally parent with someone else, but also grateful that in the big scheme of things we have blessed as we are--with family, with material resources, with humor and dry weather and concrete floors, and sleeping children and a healthy Dorothy and healthy baby jean (more to come on that family unit).

Dahoma

A christmas gift we got this year was a tree book.  It was an unexpected treasure, "Growth and cultivation of 85 indigenous trees" (alternatives to exotic species in Uganda)" by Quentin Meunier, Rudolphe Lemmens and Amelie Morin.  I'm thinking this is not a book you'll find on Amazon.

But it's great and super relevant for identifying our tree but also for one of Mark's hobbies (if he was an emotional man, i would even use the word "passions" but that might be a bit much for a stoic Lutheran chap) He decided awhile ago, he'd stop worrying about trees being cut down and get busy planting trees.  So, this book with very good photographs (of leaves, seeds, trunks, flowers, etc) and thorough written explanations is perfect for his goal of tree-planting--when and where he's given the chance.

So, our tree is called Piptadeniastrum africanum and the common names include Dahoma, Agboin, Dabema, Mpewere (Luganda) and Mugeye (Runyoro).

Botanical description: "a deciduous tree up to 50m in height or even higher, with feathery foliage and a flat topped layered crown... the trunk is often leaning or wavy, with low branches and large buttresses." So, true.

We found this book at the lodge that we went to pre-Christmas and the manager there was also knowledgeable... he said the tree could live up to 400 years or so and the wood when it does die would be very valuable because of how dense it is.  Due to the height of the tree and its slow growing, I'm figuring it is at least 100 years now but Lord, willing might be here our whole life time and the kids will come back when they are on some journey of life-discovery and still find the tree with its "leaning, wavy" trunk spreading its feathery foliage over the land.  And if its cut down, maybe one of them will follow their father's legacy and get busy planting some more of them.

Patting backs are fun

A Ugandan friend just returned from studying for a year and a half in the US.  She said, "oh, i forgot about sleeping under a mosquito net."  

Daniel has been begging to move out of the bunk bed with his sisters and his new "tent" net was a big hit and will allow him to have his own "bed".  The second shot, show the girls bed...

One thing daniel noted upon the completion of putting it up; not the prettiest scene as I do not have the patience of Job, or of Mark Bartels for that matter--- "where will you or Daddy sit at night while we fall asleep?"  Well, bucko, this is all part of mommy's plan to not be in the room while you fall asleep.  Yes, a family area of weakness-- "family dinners" and independent-climb-into-bed-happily children at night. 

I'll include a funny link to this issue (parent philosophies), but will say that we've partly responded to the children over the years.  If Mary had been the dominant voice, they'd all pop into bed and nestle into their pillows and sweet dreams.  But daniel seems to really fear the night; and my mom has told me some stories that indicate night was not easy for my dad (and still isn't?)  We have ebbed and flowed on how we handle that but ultimately I haven't wanted to make it a point of drama in our parenting. 

This has not been without consequence... Daniel recounted today, a time that I became Medusa (in hsi words) and after various needs of various children I got up from the bed and said, "enough, go to bed, I'm sick of this." (probably rachel was 1, mary 2, Daniel 5).  I.e. it has not necessarily been to our best mental health to accommodate children's bed-time wishes so fastidiously. 

So, I feel that we're entering a new stage.  Daniel can have a light on somewhere but the children can go to bed by themselves. and we can check on them. and when they are sick, we can pat their backs and pray for them.  I've been laughing over the last year, Rachel has adopted a phrase "patting backs are fun"--this she says imploringly if we insist that we won't pat her back but that we can stay in the room until she sleeps.  But this is a New Year.  And ding-dang it, they can sleep in their own room by 8pm and we can all be a happy family.  :) 

Another mom

Long ago, in the early years, I bought this painting at a small little craft stall in Kampala.

It had that "untrained" quality and strong composition and touch of Van Gogh that appealed to me from an artist perspective.

But in the years that have passed since I bought the piece (for probably 10 bucks), I love the painting for a more personal reason.  The story of becoming a mother.  And how does one not look to Mary, the mother of God, to consider the call of being a mother.

So, this nativity scene has always been part of my understanding of being a mother.  One cannot do it alone.  A friend recently saw the painting and said the character looking down over Mary and the baby was an angel.  I had honestly never thought of that.  I had always seen it as another woman, another mother, a helper, a friend, an auntie, a care-taker of child or mother or both... And much of that is informed from my experience.  The fact that the whole time I've raised children, I've had way more help and companionship of caretakers and other-mothers and family and ever-present hands to assist me than I would have as a mother in the U.S.

I've definitely journeyed (in my heart and mind) to come to terms with this reality in light of the fact that most of my American counterparts (in America and many who have come to Uganda) do not operate with ever-present assistance, and perhaps even find too much help a hinderance to good mothering.

On the other hand, many of my Ugandan neighbors and friends have always lived in a world of people of the house--some paid, some relatives, some friends, helpers, older children on holiday watching younger children, a neighbor, etc, etc.  I remember distinctly a Ugandan sharing that when they went to the US for her husband to study, she arrived at their apartment in Chicago with two young children and she looked around and said, "oh, my heavens, where is my help?"  And reading a Max Lucado to my children about Mary, the description and pictures of life in Nazareth would have been much more like Uganda.  (Mary going to live with Elizabeth for three month, various family members around before, during, after, etc... not an exact history but a depiction that seems right from what I know).  So for many traditional cultures, there is no way that one woman is alone in her house solely responsible for all manner of childcare, cleaning, hosting, working, etc, etc.

This physical and social reality that is so different in cultures and in history coincide with a psychological component of mothering that I feel is stark when I read American blogs and interact with many Americans about mothering.  Competitiveness... When I have taught Henri Nouwen's Compassion, he makes the point that human nature is inherently competitive.  But when i consider this topic of motherhood, I can't help but think that this competitive quality may be more true in Western countries, and perhaps most true in America.

I'm thinking it is somewhat intrinsically linked with the individuality vs. community-ality difference of personal identity.  I'm generally a big fan of believing all individuals and cultures have an equal share of sins, follies, virtues, strengths, etc.... And one real consequence of our individualism is a certain competitive edge because most things are determined by ranking, status, success, efficiency, whatever measure makes you the "best" of something...  While we love our families and our communities, most of us do not actually think of our security based in just "hanging out" with family.

A Ugandan friend of mine who has worked in tanzania and now zimbabwe was visiting with me and said, "ah, africa is all one big village".  And while that is a broad statement, i think one thing she was identifying was an African sense that at the end of the day you always have family. Family always matters--for good and for ill.  (This is a trait that I do think is more true in rural US or in Southern US).
But the sense of family being your defining orientation (not career, material gain, status in work place, uniqueness of contribution, etc, etc) is different enough that it does change how a mother understands her role with her children.  Who is she "competing" against... her family is her family.

I will do more research on this but felt that as Christmas is passing, this artwork and the related reality of my mothering with a team, has been a gift to me.  A complicated gift in that it merges different consciousnesses of myself-- an American individualist, a desperate American away from home and the things one copes with in home culture, an American supported by warm and loyal helpers, an American who is watching her children grow up and ever-establishing what different roles we all have with each other, an observer who is trying to reconcile the truth of different cultures and what joys and struggles we all face due to our cultural context and consciousness, etc, etc.

Post Christmas is freeing like a blemished canvas

Greeting card by Ken Martin

I've always found that I have much more freedom to start a drawing or painting on a blemished paper/canvas.  And I'm noticing that perhaps in life I also do better in the non-expectation times-- that too much pressure of expectations (mostly my own) prevents me from receiving the fullness of time and relationships. So, I'm into the full swing of appreciating the full meaning of Christmas at the closing of January 1st, 2012.

1. Thank goodness for my liturgical background--Christmas season begins Christmas day and goes until January 6th... so I'm actually being a very appropriately joyful.  However, I don't know that this is a religious joy as much as it is a "no-more-pressure-of-expectations"joy... 

2. Which leads me to my second point, expectations-- what's up with them? why does our human nature struggle so much with expectation.  I've wondered if expectations and the issues therein are due to personality, or cultural values, or control issues, but have decided that its also just a universal human nature. 

3. Expectations: a human issue... i was listening to "come though long expected Jesus" and realized that the whole problem of Jesus was that he didn't come in expected forms, in expected ways, to meet the expectations of many who had been waiting for him. 

4. And at the same time, this expectation-defying nature of Christ is what ultimately should give us all permission to be failures of a sort.  The meaning of life is not about all the control, the planning, the perfect hosting, the perfect friendships, perfect marriages, perfect parents, perfect house, perfect bodies, perfect behaviors, perfect manifestations of religion or lack of religion, or any other area of life we are so busy striving away at.  

The lyrics of this hymn are from Charles Wesley so of course they are fantastic and hold with them all the mystery of the Christian faith in such a concise way. 

Particular lines that struck me include the following:

Come, thou long expected Jesus, 
born to set thy people free;  Free-- to set us free, i.e. we are all naturally captive

from our fears and sins release us, Fears and sins-- i usually focus on "sins", but fears are as binding

let us find our rest in thee. Rest--not answers, not control, not miracles, not status, etc  

Israel's strength and consolation, Strength and consolation--they are basically the same thing, our strength comes in his presence/consolation with us

hope of all the earth thou art; 

dear desire of every nation, 

joy of every longing heart.

These last three lines are just so sure of the joy that this freedom, rest, consolation will mean in every longing heart

Born thy people to deliver, born a child and yet a King, nothing truer than a paradox

born to reign in us forever, now thy gracious kingdom bring. gracious kingdom; i want to be part of bringing a gracious kingdom

By thine own eternal spirit rule in all our hearts alone; how many other things are ruling my heart

by thine all sufficient merit,

raise us to thy glorious throne.sigh, his all sufficient merit is the means to his glory

Speaking of expectations... what have I done in this formatting to have these words starting on one line and breaking off into the second one in a very disturbing manner???? any bloggers out there can advise me, am hoping that it just self corrects next post around!