Another Anniversary

  This Sunday the team started the hike up Mount Kenya. As a disappointing turn of events, I got sick Saturday night and was basically asleep Sunday and Monday. When I woke up today I realized I had totally forgotten the date. Yesterday was the anniversary of my oldest brother's death. Thirteen years.
  The last month, I have felt heavy with sadness. I miss him. And I'm sad that when my family gathers together there will always be a piece missing. I remember thinking at the two year mark how crazy it seemed that one day Clayborne would be gone 10 years. I couldn't fathom what it would be like when I was much, much older and probably in a place where no one would know that part of my story, or have ever known him. Sitting just past the 10 year mark, the shock of grief has abated, but there are days when I feel like I am back on that river bank; or in the car driving to the hospital; or pulling up to the house with innumerable amounts of people there to support our family.
  Each year it seems there is something particularly difficult. At one point, I really struggled with remembering his face and his voice. I felt like I was forgetting him. Then I struggled with the fact that I knew him as a kid, and there was so much about who he was that I didn't know. More recently, I struggled with the realization that most of the people I meet won't have known him and that his life is something I have to share in order for people to know about it. Sometimes I grow weary of that, and I think it comes from a place that is tired of engaging with the brokenness of this life.
  Since being in Nairobi I have seen and heard so much brokenness. The struggle to hope is real and difficult. I have realized that rarely do I celebrate my brothers life. I often mourn his loss, and hope for that eventual reunion. But I don't celebrate the gift of his life.
  It is so hard for me to rest in the Father's arms and receive the hope of Jesus. It's hard for me to admit my pain to the Father in the same way that it is difficult for me to rejoice with the Father over the life of my brother who is with the Father in heaven. How do I grieve the brokenness I have experienced, made real by my brother's death, while celebrating the work of a great God who gives life? How do I celebrate Clayborne's life while mourning his death?
 This is one of those times that I want to perfectly handle, but I am overwhelmed by the realization that I CANNOT respond and interact with reality in a perfect manner. I can only know how to respond with the guidance of the Spirit, the grace of the Father and the blood of Christ.

  I miss Clayborne, and by God's grace and guidance I long to say that in sadness and in joy.

Isaiah 40:6b-8

All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field.

The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the LORD blows on it;

surely people are grass.

The grass withers, the flower fades, 

but the word of our God will stand forever.

Hangry Hippos, the Great Rift Valley, and a Cracked Cup

  Almost two weeks ago, the other interns, my boss/mentor and her husband, and two other Serge team guys and I went camping on the shores of Lake Naivasha in the Great Rift Valley. I can't say how incredible it was to get out of the city. The air was fresh, there was vegetation and there was camp fire! As we sat around the fire that night, after having an incredible camp fire meal, our eyes were drawn towards a large moving mass near the shores edge. There was a hippo! Of course I had been told we might see hippos during the night while they feast on grass and grab near the waters edge, but I had forgotten about the possibility. We walked closer and watched the hippo eat. You know that feeling you get when you look out over the ocean or stare into a fire? I had similar feeling as a stared at an animal that could easily kill me with a flick of its head. And this guy wasn't even full grown!
  After a while he went out of the light and we returned to our game, but before going to bed we took one last walk down the shore to see if we could spot any more hippos. At one point we heard rustling that sounded like it was coming straight at us so we backed away from the road and farther inland. After waiting several minutes we saw a huge gray shape moving and slowly a mama and baby hippo made their way toward the supposedly electric fence. We stood in awe for minutes but edged a bit closer when suddenly the mama looked straight at us and snorted; we took several steps back and tried to move into shadows. After some time, she seemed satisfied that we were not a threat and continued grazing. To top the excitement, a GIGANTIC male hippo slowly moved into the light. The boats behind him had seemed so large earlier that day when I had seen all the people in them, but with that big boy standing next to them the enormity of his size overwhelmed me. It was incredible!

  The next morning we had awesome pancakes and bacon and sausage, then packed up and left for Mount Longonot. I had been warned that the hike would be hard, but as we started the ascent to the crater of the long-extinct volcano I began to truly struggle. The path was dusty and often slippery because of the loose sand-like dirt that lay upon the way. Halfway up we took a long break under a hut, frustration was building in my heart as I realized how unfit I have become. My physical weakness was overwhelming and as I looked out over the picturesque valley below I felt in my heart its weakness. To be able to create such a beautiful landscape, much less trek its terrain takes power and discipline that I could never possess. I felt so in awe of the God who made all that was before me. We continued on, making it to the top in time for lunch. The view was astounding: standing in the middle of the path on the ridge you could see the Rift Vally all around. Facing the direction of Nairobi, you had a sharp descent within several feet of your body on either side.
  After lunch we started the journey around the ridge of the volcano. Volcanic rock made up what we walked upon and the vegetation around the volcano outlined the distance to which the lava once spouted. The nerd in me was loving it, and part of me wished I could go back as a member of any one of the many scientific research teams the visit Mount L. Much of the walk around was enjoyable, some was spent scrambling and climbing up soft, powdery dirt and the rest was spent trying not to go to fast down the peaks. As we finished circling the crater our guide told us we should hurry down because of the herd of buffalo that makes its way up the path to the top of the crater. So we began the descent at a very past, but quiet pace. I was tired and could only think of how it would feel to wash off the deep layer of dust that had settled over me.
  Nearing the point in the path where the guide had seen the buffalo, we slowed down. As we passed by the heard at one point we heard a great snort. The guide signed us to stop, turn and run back up the path a bit. He threw a bunch of rocks into the forest, beat the ground with the stick he carried, and made low grunting noises. After a time, he was satisfied it was safe and we continued on. At one point I was within 20 yards of a Buffalo. It felt a little crazy and unsafe, but sooo very cool.

  The clinic, located within the compound of a small primary school, has also been pretty busy as we've been planning and preparing a health project for the students. The goal of the project was to chart each of the students growth development, give them full body and skin check ups, de-worm them, assess their cognitive development, and check their vision. We started going through the youngest class on Tuesday of this week, and it has been so fun to interact and call by name the children I have been seeing through the window the last couple months. Besides the youngest ones, the students can speak English pretty well, and since the students are a mixture of Somalis and Kenyans and live so close to both a Somali and Kenyan neighborhood, they also speak both of those languages as well. It was so fun to work with those kids!

  At a primary school in Kibera slum, I've also been teaching the kids how to plant and grow sunflowers, as well as started going through the jobs of the different parts of the plant. And there were several flowers starting to grow! While I was doing that the other interns were either teaching an art class (how to draw and paint animals) or teaching the story of Noah and the flood to the kids. The last day we were there, we hung up a big, painted Ark and put the children's' animals within it. It was fun to see the kids enjoying the display of their work.

  As far as my own heart is concerned, I have had a long, tiring 6 weeks. For a while I thought that I was weary because of what I was experiencing and because of the new, busy schedule, but in the last couple weeks I have also found myself pulling away from people here. I was getting tired of engaging in cross-cultural friendships and could feel in my heart a frustration that people were giving me the energy I wanted and needed to make it happily through the day. The truth is that I proudly think of myself as an amazing lover of people, and my pride has only swelled as I have judged myself a successful cross-cultural friend-maker (terms adopted and defined by Mae Mae's full-length dictionary and thesaurus). The question then emerges as to why I would be so tired if an extrovert like me gains energy from interacting and engaging with people: people are not the truest, purist source of life. In Psalm 63, David speaks of thirsting for God so that he looks to God in the sanctuary. He then says that God's steadfast love is better than life, and goes on to say that his soul will be satisfied when he meditates on his God.
  This isn't my heart. My heart seeks for peace, energy and rest through other people, the excitement of new places, the thrill of being helpful, the rush of being sacrificial, and so on. Who is my portion? Whom do I seek in the sleepless nights? Where do I look when my cup cracks and won't hold any water? Who is my life, my light my all?
  And my struggle to rest in his arms goes deeper than an independent spirit, it comes from a deep disbelief in the character of God I follow. Can I trust him with my heart, with my vulnerable weakness? Can I let go the belief that I can one day be as mighty as God? Can I let go of my self-awareness? I can't. Not on my own and definitely not without the prodding and leading of the Holy Spirit.

Psalm 103:1-5, 8 & 10

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me,

    bless his holy name! Bless the Lord, O my soul,

    and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity,

    who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit,

    who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,

who satisfies you with good

    so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

The Lord is merciful and gracious,

    slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. 

He does not deal with us according to our sins,

    nor repay us according to our iniquities.

Two wrong turns make a right turn...unless you are me.

  As I have shared before, talking with the Lord has not been the highest priority in my life for some time. In high school several things led me to the throne room on an almost daily basis; crying out and calling on the name of Jesus for help was a reality of my life. After leaving for college, my time with the Lord became increasingly sparse due to several factors, one of them being my pride. I had passed through a lot of grief and felt the veil of darkness that comes from the brokenness of this world, and I survived. In my eyes, I was stronger, wiser, and super duper mature. I was that girl that would easily say, "I'm praying for you!" But rarely did I act on that. As I have been reading through "A Praying Life" by Paul Miller, I can feel the picture I see of myself beginning to shift. I feel helpless and incapable in more ways than I have felt before, and yet the Father coaxes me to talk to Him about it. Asking for help doesn't come naturally to me! In fact my tendency and desire is to have just one day in my life where I am worthy of His grace. So every day is a day I work to achieve that.
  Last Friday when I was stuck in the jam for 4 hours because I took a wrong turn (like 5 or 6 times) and couldn't find my way back home, I felt helpless and alone. I was exhausted from being with myself for so long, from the stress of being lost, and from the frustration with myself for not being a more capable Nairobi driver. A lot of the time I had the radio off, and then the thought would pop into my mind to pray. So I would ask the Lord to show me where I was supposed to turn, and to just get me home soon because an hour in I didn't think I could handle another minute in the car. After a minute or two I wouldn't know what else to say and I would turn the music back up. I would listen for another 30 or 45 minutes, then the thought would come back to me to talk to my Father. I would turn down the music, talk for a bit, then run out of things to say and turn the music back on. This cycle was on repeat for 4 hours. Sometimes I would start praying out of guilt. But some sort of thought would come to me reminding me of how much the Father wants to talk to me. I though of a child telling an unending, overly detailed story to his parent. Does the parent nod distractedly then brush of the kid? No (not usually)! And how much greater the Heavenly Father is and how much more engaged He is with our hearts. He is waiting to listen to me. How can someone so beyond any descriptive thought or word be so gracious, so loving?

[I'm not sure that I can call it an answer to prayer, but I ended up at the same round about time after time after time for almost 2 hours...it would seem that in the end the Father was showing me the way to go in all my wrong turns.]

  Psalm 94:8-11

Understand, O dullest of the people! Fools when will you be wise?

He who planted the ear, does he not hear?

He who formed the eye, does he not see?

He who teaches man knowledge-the LORD- knows the thoughts of man, that they are but a breath.

Psalm 95:5

The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land.