unforgettable fun

just a listing of really really fun & random things that my team has done since we've been in Eburru. I just can't leave these unsaid...

• Hiking down into a crater on the side of a mountain
• Starting a "hikers for Jesus" club and climbing 4 mountains in one afternoon. That's right, I said 4! I think it was pure adrenaline that got us through it
• Playing Ultimate Frisbee with the high school boys after school with cows grazing on the sidelines
• Caving under a forest Indiana Jones style. The scenery seriously could have come out of a movie, and the 7 of us spent most of the hike writing the movie plot in this horror film, and which of us would actually make it out alive
• Hippo Safari on Lake Nevasha - which led us to an island where we roamed casually on foot with the giraffe, zebras, gazelles, camels, and wildabeast
• Running laps on the road in a skirt. Yes, skirts are required... everywhere
• Spending 4 days unbraiding 300 mini braids out of my hair. I'm back to normal as of Friday - one month without washing my hair is pretty impressive, I think
• singing disney songs in the back of a Mutatu as the bumps send us flying half way out the window
• Buying a bunny for 50 shillings (about $0.80), naming him Pickles, and watching the boys take their one attempt every night to spear him
• Praying with a man for salvation, and in return him promising me 1 slaughtered goat from his flock on my next visit
• watching Pirates of the Caribbean on a projector screen in the dining hut. We brought in all of our matresses and made jiko fresh popcorn to fully experience movie night
  
• Playing in an intense futbol match between the mzungus (white people) and the school kids in the mud after a rain storm and high enough in the mountains to watch the clouds pass directly overhead

that's all I can think of for the moment. but it's only been two weeks, you can count on more stories to come!

a day in eburru

I wake up every morning to the rooster’s call. My eyes open before the sun passes over the mountains, and at first glance the cement hut is darkness. There is not a trace of light, and I have never experienced a darkness like this before. Yet I feel a safe comfort on the floor with my four roommates snuggles in a row on mattresses next to me. I lay in bed, fading in and out of sleep, until sunlight splinters through the cracked wooden door and I hear a quiet knock on the other side. I roll sideways in my tangled sleeping bag to knock back and start my day, while quietly trying not to wake up the others.
After baby wipes, cold tennis shoes and a trip to the squatty potty, the early risers begin our prayer walk in the crisp morning air. We travel down the drive, past cornfields and hospital construction to the road. Up the steep winding hill and down past the trees and cows and barefoot travelers, we share our hearts, our struggles, and thank God for this place. Every direction is astounding; the vast blue sky goes for as far as I can see, and distant mountains paint the view deeper and deeper shades into the horizon. Lush green forests and pastures cover the hills, and when I stop to look up from the rocky dirt road beneath me, it takes my breath away.
Breakfast in the main hut is full of mandazi and french toast and chai, socks with sandals, and stories of late night conversations and yelling and deep posed questioning in the men’s hut (while asleep of course). The hut is built of mud and sticks and tin, and furnished with plastic chairs and tarps that cover the open window frames. The dirt floor hides our spills, and the chickens come and go for any scraps they can find.
Quiet time comes, an hour and a half for just me and the Lord. Bible studying, journaling, worship music in the soft grass on the side of the hill – it’s my time to grow. To come before him with questions. To search for him, and in return hear his answers. It is the fuel for my day. And I don’t know how I made it through 20 years without this time set aside.
I put on my layers; jeans, skirt, t-shirt, track jacket, socks, tennies – and head out the door. It’s a morning of labor at the hospital. This two-story building, made of concrete with beams sticking out of the sides, with rubbish and rocks and trash sprinkling the landscape, with rooms filled of boards and scraps and filth, is to open for business in a week. I cut grass with a machete until my hands blister and bleed, and then I climb the building to wash the outside windows with paint thinner and dusty sponges. The sun beams a blistering heat, and in the next minute clouds open up and the rain pours down. The morning is exhausting, but the labor is worth all our accomplishments and grateful thanks.
Lunch comes bringing PB&J or noodles with carrot sauce, followed by women’s Bible study at the camp. What’s set at 2:00pm turns into 4:00pm African time, and the afternoon slowly passes with the team, watching the boys practice their spearing techniques or by lying in the front lawn between our huts, relaxing and telling stories with the girls. The women from church finally come by foot, some from miles away, to hear the word, eat Russian tea cakes, and make God’s eyes with all the yarn they can grab. The laughter and fellowship warm my heart, and teach me that some things go so much deeper than a language barrier.
When the boys come back from their ministry in the center, the camp is full and thriving. A futbol game in the driveway sparks, and Daisy comes over with her friends to dance and play games with me on the hill where our laundry is hanging to dry. The day starts to cool down as the sun sets over the mountains, and I give my friends a push home while there is still enough light to see the path. Dinner of cabbage and mash potatoes fill our bellies, followed by the scripture study that fill our spirits. Every night is a new verse, every night a new discussion, every night a new flame sparked inside of me. I’m learning this word, and it’s coming to life like I’ve never seen it before.
Darkness has covered the camp now, and night brings a cold chill that I never expected to feel in Africa. The small jiko fire, powered by smoke and burning charcoal, warms our toes as I sit with the lingering few in a tight circle for warmth. The generator cuts in and out, making electricity a gamble and headlights a prized possession. We tell stories and roast corn and play cribbage, and if it’s a special night, Craig will bring out the popcorn kernels and amaze James as he stands wide-eyed over the fire to watch the kernels pop. He has never seen such a thing, and makes me promise to teach his wife this magic trick.
Time lingers on at night, sometimes leaving nothing to do but stare at the wide night sky and watch the stars twinkle. I’ve always heard that stars twinkle, but never have I seen it until now. Not like this. Hank (our night guard) tells me stories, beginning every statement with, “Who me?” and leaving the group only to sneak up on us in the shaded doorways. His old rigid exterior melts away with his wide gaping smile, and pouring time into him is becoming one of my favorite ministries here.
One last stop to the dark tin box with a whole in the ground, known as our bathrooms, then I open the creaking door to the hut and crawl into my sleeping bag. The night is cold now, and the world seems still, but my mind is still turning. I let myself question and ponder all the thoughts of the day, until sleep finally steals me away. Life here is slow, it’s quiet, it’s unpredictable. It’s different than I’ve ever lived before. And it will be very hard to say goodbye to.

hard endings and new beginnings

A month without communication home is just too large a gap to fill in current events, but I can justify my lack of correspondence. Last Monday (Oct 22) I spent 9 hours in a chair at a hair salon getting the full African makeover. Granted, she told me it would take 4 hours - I love it, here's a preview for you:
(this is me with my friend Albert. He has a beautiful smile when he shows it)

Yesterday was the last day of ministry in Kibera. I taught my 6th graders English for the last time, and after handing out 45 friendship bracelets I knotted by hand, we preceeded to an amazing afternoon of orange relays and Red Rover. It was our last Kibera street meeting, and all of our friends were there. We prayed for God to stop the rain, and He did (the second time He performed this miracle for our street meetings). We drimed, we prayed, and then the sky opened and we said our goodbyes in the pouring rain. It was a night I'll never forget, and I'm so thankful for every friendship I've made here. Deep, real friendships with the purest of hearts.

mountain. I don't know what to expect, but I pray that God is already preparing the hearts of those we will be discipling. It is hard to leave Kibera. Our time here just doesn't seem enough. Here are some pictures of my frTomorrow the team packs up for Eburru, a completely different ministryon the side of aiends, please pray for them.

My 6th grade boys


My Bible College Students


My dear friend Gerard


The girls on my team

October 28th - journal entry

Today is our last Sunday in Kibera. Our time here is coming to a close, and that’s starting to feel really real. Friday night at Bible college we brought up that for the first time, and my heart melted as the students shared how much they truly appreciate me and Craig. We took pictures, Mildred gave us bananas, and I didn’t want to leave. Thank you, Lord, for making it possible to teach on Monday since we cannot go on Friday. Any time I have to spend with and pour into these incredible, God seeking people is a blessing.

There were so many friends at our street meeting yesterday: Phyllis, Ester, Steve, Oscar, Antony, Tobias and Albert, our youth group friends we laughed with at Saturday Club. I think it was the first time I really realized what a huge foundation has been built here. I looked out into the crown to see my friends, who love me, smiling right back. It was then I realized short term missions just aren’t enough. As jacked and excited I am to go to Eburru, it is becoming harder and harder to walk away from all this. Walk away from the people who have stolen my heart, unsure if we’ll ever meet again.

God, you have blessed our time here. You are working through us to save the lost, encourage the believers, love the children, and even bring Muslims to the truth. Sometimes I’m just in awe at your hand working in all these different ministries.

This is our last Sunday in Kibera. My last Sunday at Pastor Timothy’s crazy, spirit filled Blue House Calvary Church. This morning, Father, belongs to you. I promise to sing and dance and praise your name like never before. So even if they stare, they will know you have done a mighty work in my life. And I want to say thank you.

October 21st - journal entry

As I watch another African sunset from our luxurious balcony, listening to the worship music inside and the evening birds singing, I reflect on the day. A great day.

Today was another day of firsts. It was the first time I’ve preached a sermon at a church, not to mention a church in the Kibera slum overflowing with believers coming to hear the word. Oh Lord, what a rush. I was so nervous, but I knew that this was my time. Last week I could not find the words you were wanting me to say, and this morning they were heavy on my heart. I taught on what I knew best – the book of Job. Father I know you were speaking though me today, because I know hearts were touched. My hands were shaking and my skirt got tripped n the microphone chord, but my words were solid, and I spoke your truth. When Pastor Timothy came and hugged me during the service, I knew I had done well. You were moving in me, through me. God it was so powerful. Thank you for using me as an instrument. Antony was so amazing today. He is such a new believer, and already he has been speaking words of encouragement into my life. He has blessed me so much, and I pray that I can be a true friend to him.

This night is so beautiful. The air is warm and the breeze is soft. The flowers are bright and coloring the landscape with yellow and pink. Last night I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be in community, I didn’t want to be in Africa, I didn’t want to serve. Then Bobby came onto the patio, apologized for being a jerk, and in his own subtle way forced me to open up. Forced me to be real with myself. And then we ate fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and painted the things on our hearts that were crying out to you. It was so good. Help me not to settle here. Help me not to take this wonderful place for granted, and never hold back love from anyone who reaches out for my hand. I love you so much.

October 15th - journal entry

There are so many trees surrounding me. Just looking around makes me forget where I am. I could be anywhere. I’m lying under a towering tree that reaches high and twists to the ground. There are piney mountain trees ahead, and the largest palm tree to my left, standing solo in front of a Dr. Seuss-like forest. I can’t name all of the types or shapes or sizes, but I know the beauty of this place. I can imagine the Garden of Eden looked something like this, a place where every animal and plant and creation came together – before they were scattered to the ends of the earth. Maybe this is where it all started. Maybe it was here, under the soft heat of the sun, enveloped in the magnificence of nature, that Eve saw Adam for the first time. When life was perfect. When the world was free from darkness and sin. When God walked alongside his beloved creations. It would happen here. God, I hope you can see the longing in my heart to have that again.

Ok, after a 20 minute conversation about the future with Craig, it’s time to write. I need to process some things.

Sunday I volunteered to give the sermon. Don’t ask me why. All I knew was the story of Job – I’ve got that down. So from Friday night to Sunday morning I am pretty much out of self. Nervousness and insecurities arose, and I was not hearing God tell me what to preach. Sunday came, and I spent the morning pacing, primping, and reciting the story of Job. I walked to church practically in silence, and Frank did a good job trying to encourage and uplift me. So many prayers were said – from me, from Becca, from Craig. I could feel the spirit cover me so much yesterday, but I could still not find the words to say. Then worship came, and something unexpected happened. I could not think about the sermon. All I could think about was coming back to Africa – to go on another mission in January. To go home to shower, repack and fly out again. Where did this come from, God? Is it from you? Because I cannot shake it. I can’t stop thinking about this life, this calling, this passion. Is it what you have for me right now? I have so many questions, and at the same time my heart leaps with excitement. Living in community, leaving the commercialized U.S. for the empty hands of children. I’ve never even heard of YWAM before this trip, but now it makes so much sense (in a crazy missionary way) to move to Australia, study for three months, then go serve at some far off destination – wherever it is you lead me next, Father. This is such a new development and it’s heavy on my heart. I know you said you would lead me, God – and I trust you. Thank you for giving me the next piece in the puzzle, if this is what you have for me. And on top of it all, I did not even preach yesterday – the guest pastor stepped in unannounced. I guess your plan was bigger than a sermon.

On a lighter note, I went to my very first concert in Kenya last night – a crazy, outdoor gospel concert at their football stadium – and it was amazing! I almost feel guilty for never having listened to Kirk Franklin, considering he lives in Dallas and Eva, Zitah and Steve are all pretty much in love with him. He was good, but the atmosphere was exceptional. So much dancing and singing and just praising the Lord in a way only Africans know how to do. When they worship, it’s with their whole body and full heart. There is so much positive energy, and no one cares how you dance or if you sing out of key, we were there to praise our God – the one living God who surpasses all ethnic boundaries. What a time of praise and worship. I left that place so physically exhausted that I fell asleep in the Mutatu – a nearly impossible feat, especially when it’s brimming with passengers and jolting from one side of the road to the other, up and over hidden speed bumps. Ah, what a good night. I could life this life, God. If you ask me to, I would love to live this life.