Homecoming means coming home
to what is in your heart.
"Do not call to mind the former things, or ponder things of the past.
Behold, I will do something new."
Behold, I will do something new."
Isaiah. 43:18-19
On 4 January 2013, we arrived back home in Kenya. The THQ officers and staff, a band, and two Songster brigades met us at the airport. After a brief programme in the African heat, we were whisked away for a lovely luncheon with the welcome party. Then we began the road journey to Kakamega. Upon reaching our new quarters, we were told to go and rest as a group of ladies prepared yet another feast in our kitchen. Several hours later, the Cabinet arrived at our home for the welcome dinner.
It didn't take long for us to realize that living in Kakamega will be different from living in Nairobi. Instead of a guard dog, a 'guard cow' meets us at the compound gate. Instead of waking up to our alarm clock, the roosters awaken us, and much more effectively. Also, while I was somewhat anonymous in Nairobi, I am already recognized around town as the "Army mama." Even Lydia, the guard hired to scan shoppers before they enter the market, just smiles, kisses me, and welcomes me inside.
Since we live on the outskirts of the rain forest, I doubt that we will ever be without water. In fact, the other night it rained so hard I was convinced we were going to be swept down the hillside. The thunderous noise on the tin roof didn't help the situation. Electricity is another issue, though. As of now, we have been without power for about two days. Just before we lost it, I had purchased a week’s worth of groceries, and Ken had splurged on a large container of ice cream. That's been lost, of course, and I've learned a lesson. My shopping list now consists of fewer fresh meats and more dried beans!
I keep thinking of the lessons my daughter, Jessy, took from the circus trapeze she tried in London. She had to let go of the bar she was comfortably swinging on just at the right moment, hover for a second in the void, and then catch hold on the next swing. That is how I feel right now. I was comfortable in London, enjoying my life and ministry. God called me to grab hold of something new and exciting. I am still in that void, not quite grasping my new life, but believing I will be just fine. My faith lies in Christ, my safety net.
It didn't take long for us to realize that living in Kakamega will be different from living in Nairobi. Instead of a guard dog, a 'guard cow' meets us at the compound gate. Instead of waking up to our alarm clock, the roosters awaken us, and much more effectively. Also, while I was somewhat anonymous in Nairobi, I am already recognized around town as the "Army mama." Even Lydia, the guard hired to scan shoppers before they enter the market, just smiles, kisses me, and welcomes me inside.
Since we live on the outskirts of the rain forest, I doubt that we will ever be without water. In fact, the other night it rained so hard I was convinced we were going to be swept down the hillside. The thunderous noise on the tin roof didn't help the situation. Electricity is another issue, though. As of now, we have been without power for about two days. Just before we lost it, I had purchased a week’s worth of groceries, and Ken had splurged on a large container of ice cream. That's been lost, of course, and I've learned a lesson. My shopping list now consists of fewer fresh meats and more dried beans!
I keep thinking of the lessons my daughter, Jessy, took from the circus trapeze she tried in London. She had to let go of the bar she was comfortably swinging on just at the right moment, hover for a second in the void, and then catch hold on the next swing. That is how I feel right now. I was comfortable in London, enjoying my life and ministry. God called me to grab hold of something new and exciting. I am still in that void, not quite grasping my new life, but believing I will be just fine. My faith lies in Christ, my safety net.
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