What a Thrill!

I came that they may have and enjoy life,
and have it in abundance (to the full, till it overflows). John 10:10 (AMP)

This month has had its ups and downs.  After weeks of eye pain and consulting two local doctors, my loving husband contacted the American Embassy for a medical referral. Based upon that information, Ken flew me to Nairobi to meet with a surgeon, and within two minutes, he determined that I had a small piece of hard plastic embedded in my eye.  I'd been suffering for more than two months, but he removed it in ten seconds. I don't mind saying that it took every ounce of self-discipline at my disposal to keep myself from dropping to my knees at the doctor's feet in gratitude.  

Power has been sporadic at best, at one point forcing me to shop at the market in the dark.  Not a good way to select meat, let me tell you.  And at home, our lights have been flickering on and off almost constantly. Add the loud music from a three-day wedding celebration in another compound across the valley, and it's been like living in a disco (not that I would know!)

Last weekend, I was the guest at a Home League Congress in the Tongaren Division at which more than 1,000 women were present.  Many ladies arrived at the school compound in which the event would take place carrying suitcases on their heads.  At the same time, a line of buses raised huge billows of dust as they lurched from side to side along the dirt road that led to the school.  As each one arrived, the ladies would pile out, carrying everything they needed for the weekend -- firewood, mattresses, cooking supplies, and chickens.  Wow.  As you might expect, it turned out to be an amazing three-day camping jamboree with, you guessed it, not-stop dancing. 

One corps leaving the Congress in their tractor.

It is circumcision season in Kenya.  So on my way home from the Congress, I saw several parades, which are understood here as celebrations of the fact that local boys are becoming men.  These ceremonies play an important role in the culture of western Kenya, but I confess that I do worry about boys who are essentially kidnapped, stripped, and then cut without their consent.  And my heart breaks for those families that will lose their child at the hand of an inexperienced cutter.

A circumcision celebration in Mbale

Put it all together, and you'll understand that this month has been a wild ride.  A Pinterest quote says it all:

Life is like a roller-coaster.  It has its up and downs. 

It's your choice to scream or throw up your hands and enjoy the ride!

Yes, there are days I want to scream.  But God has made a way for me to live a life of joy and victory.  So today, I'm going to sit back, throw up my hands, and enjoy the ride.

Change Me

Do not conform yourselves to the standards of this world, 

but let God transform you inwardly by a complete change of your mind. 

Romans 12:2a  (GNT)

Throwing her arms around me, a woman that I haven't seen in years exclaimed, "Mama, you look wonderful.  You haven't changed a bit!"  I was skeptical, of course, but since I turned 53 this week, that compliment was a lovely gift.  Maybe my extensive maintenance routine and all the lotions and potions I use every day really does make a difference.

Kakamega has recently experienced some violent storms.  Last week, the sound of hail pounding the metal roof on our quarters was so loud that Ken and I couldn't hear each other at the dinner table.  So we ate in silence until we looked up and saw water beginning to pour into the room. Unable to communicate in any other way, Ken and I waved our hands wildly and then scrambled to put out a collection of bowls, buckets, and towels.  Once they had been placed strategically around the room, we sat back down at the table, smiled at one another, and finished our dinner to the romantic sound of a waterfall.  

That's not how I would have reacted a few years ago.

The biggest news around town these days is that our local airstrip is now operational, with (almost) daily flights to Nairobi.  So since Ken and I had to visit the Nigeria High Commission, we booked a flight.  We arrived at the airstrip and sat down in the small departure lounge, patiently waiting for our flight to be called.  Ken and I watched as a small, single engine plane touched down on the tarmac (a bit too hard for my liking), and I suggested that it was just delivering the mail.  But then the attendant told us that our briefcases were too big to keep with us.  That's when I realized that this was OUR plane.  I swallowed hard, surrendered my bag, and received in return a small brown paper sack containing a dry sandwich and small bottle of water.  At that point, I determined that any questions about the entertainment system would be superfluous, and I slowly climbed up the few stairs into the back of the plane (Note to self:  next time, wear trousers).

It was at this juncture that I noticed the distinction between our airstrip and the plane.  The airstrip was new, and it looked great.  The plane, on the other hand, was relatively old, and most things seemed to be broken.  In fact, I thought I saw the words "Wright Brothers" on one of the wing struts.  The pilot turned around, welcomed us on board, and then we were off . . . on what was undoubtedly the bumpiest flight I have ever experienced.  In the course of the next hour, we flew through two rainstorms.  During the second, I squeezed my husband's hand so hard that it turned white, and I yelled into his ear, "Next time, we drive!"  Ken just smiled and patted my hand.

On the way back the following day, Ken did his best to distract me by pointing out the herds of zebra and giraffe that we flew over.  In fact, I actually started to enjoy the flight until our pilot made a turn that was a bit too steep, which caused the plane's early warning system, in a voice eerily reminiscent of our Garmin, to say, "Caution. Insufficient  power."  Gulp.  A few minutes later, as we crawled out of the plane in Kakamega, it took all of my self-discipline to refrain from kneeling down (in papal fashion) and kissing the ground.

Ken tells me that it will not be so bad when we fly to Nairobi again next week.  Right.

As we drove home from the airstrip, bumping along the dirt roads, maneuvering through herds of cows, and slowly passing through crowded markets, I thought again about how much my life has changed.  I'm in a different place, and I've learned a different way of thinking, of working, and of serving.  Yet I'm neither surprised nor concerned, because when you choose to follow Christ, doesn't it also mean you choose to be changed?  

The world focuses on the exterior, giving a great deal of attention to beauty, looks, and image.  But Christ works from the inside out.  He transforms our thoughts, allowing us to experience life as one grand adventure in faith.  And it is by living life for Him that we are changed.   Martin Buxbaum once wrote:

Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty.

They merely move it from their faces into their hearts. 

So as I grow older,  I pray that God will continue to change me, to transform me into His likeness. Perhaps on the day He calls me heavenward, He will throw his arms around me and whisper lovingly, "My, how you've changed."