I was driving down the interstate, cruise on, a full tank of gas, and radio blaring. “I’m okay,” I remember thinking, yet I was still a little nervous. There was something unsettled deep within me. I tried to drown it out through the song on the radio. “It doesn’t really matter how hard you try…” “It might be nice to have people, but I don’t really need anyone” I mused, “besides, I’m going with the flow of traffic here, I’ll be fine.”
That was me, a year before I met two people who wouldn’t leave me alone. My life seemed to be going fine, I wasn’t always super happy but it wasn’t like I was depressed either. I was trying to find the status quo, a simple version of the American dream, after all I didn’t want to disappoint myself by setting the bar to high, and I was on my way. Things were pretty much under control. I had minimized the risk of failing by downsizing my expectations. I was going with the flow.
Then I met her. She was wearing a red skirt and a white shirt, with long brown hair and big brown eyes. Everything about her was unique, and she piqued my curiosity. Of course I was too shy to go up and talk to her, that would mean putting myself in jeopardy of failing, but I did do things to try to get her to notice me. About the same time, there was someone else trying to get me to notice Him. Up until then, I’d heard a lot about Him, I’d studied about Him in class, I’d read a book He’d inspired, and I’d enjoyed how creative and thoughtful He was. I’d even believed in Him to take my sins away and get me into heaven, but somehow I didn’t know Him. That was about to change.
 
A few months later…

Unnoticed, the volume on the radio had lessened. There were people talking, and I wasn’t as lonely. I was more aware now, like a driver who has just had a close encounter with a deer. We were visiting, the three of us, the conversation going from light hearted jesting to serious discussion and back again. “Don’t go there,” the girl would say, “By trying to protect yourself by avoiding others, you’re actually hurting yourself. Besides, Jesus loves you, why should you be angry?” Sometimes, I was like the two voices were one. I wanted to listen. I had been afraid, but they had pursued me. I didn’t run. How could I have missed Him before? After all I’d studied about Him, all I’d read. The sound on the radio was barely audible. My foot on the gas pedal… somewhere back there I was no longer on cruise control.
It was sometime during that year that I decided to pull off of the interstate. I don’t remember making a conscious decision to do so, it was more of a gradual change. My desire to follow my new friends had subtly grown stronger than my desire to maintain the status quo. It was easy for me at first, I was enjoying spending time with them. It wasn’t long though, until I realized now I had to worry about oncoming traffic. Still, the discussion in the car kept me alert. As we talked together I felt more and more sure that I was on the right road. I didn’t really know where this road would go, but I guess I hadn’t really known where I was headed on the interstate either, I’d just figured I’d be okay since there were lots of other cars going that way. Then, unexpectedly, I found myself talking to myself. “Where did she go? What did I do?” I had come to a fork in the road. “Do I go back or should I press on alone?” “Aren’t you forgetting someone?” I heard a voice. “All those times we spent together, was it just because of her? Will you keep following me down this road even if it means going alone?” He asked. “As long as you go with me, I’ll keep going.” I decided. “Okay,” He said, “Why don’t you stop and pick her up, she’s just up the road.” And so it went. That happened a few more times, but each time my resolve grew stronger to see where this road went. I wanted to keep following Jesus, I didn’t want to go back, I wanted to see what was around the next bend.          
Three years after I’d met the girl, I asked her to marry me. She agreed, and that led to our toughest time yet. We were engaged for a year, and the road we were on seemed to be constantly under construction. The conversations between the three of us, and at times the two of us, became much more honest, and they started boring down beneath the surface. At this time, I was learning who she really is, and I was also learning who He is. It was like all the things I’d learned about Him were puzzle pieces in a box, facts in history, yet as I began taking them out of the box and searching for how they fit together, a beautiful, powerful, yet kind picture began to emerge. The first step in getting to Him was realizing that I could get to know Him. In fact, as I started putting the pieces together, I realized that He wanted me to get to know Him, and that has been part of his plan all along. Of course, that’s why He’d been speaking to me, I just hadn’t known it was Him. I was no longer studying facts about a historical figure, I was reading letters from a living Savior. His words began to sink into my heart and continued to change me. I found they gave me strength to love the girl, even as she struggled to find her way.   
The next year, we were married. She was now my wife. The new proximity brought with it new challenges. She, who had been influential in getting me to turn off the interstate, although perhaps unwittingly, now wanted to live on cruise control. It was like we had each done a 180, and we were now on opposite sides of the spectrum from when we’d first talked. We met somewhere in the middle, and we managed to make it through that first year. Meeting in the middle doesn’t always imply unity, however, and in this case, it was more out of necessity than anything. Four years after our first meeting, we were further apart than ever, and it was usually just the two of us talking. Changes in life often bring with them the opportunities to develop new habits, yet instead of using this change to focus on building a strong relationship among the three of us, we coasted, and it wasn’t always pretty. Yet thankfully the third person among us, the one usually forgotten, Jesus, is not just beautiful, powerful, and kind, but also patient, and a little bit jealous. I think He missed those conversations among the three of us, and He was about to give us another chance by bringing another change into our lives.           
We both saw the “road ahead closed” sign at about the same time. We had been talking in the car about a possible change of direction, but now we were sure, a detour it would be. We turned off the paved road we were on and for the first time felt the crunch of gravel underneath our tires. Coasting was no longer an option, as we were now driving slightly uphill. Animated conversation filled the car, “where would this road end up?” “Is this a dead end?” “Will we have to turn around?” “Trust me,” He said, “You won’t have to turn around, I know where this road is taking you.” We continued on driving, putting more and more distance between us and the familiar hills behind us. Many thoughts filled our minds. We knew we would miss the many people who had shared in our lives. We would miss the places where we used to hang out, where we made our first memories together. Yet, we knew we were heading in the right direction. With mixed emotions, we drove on. Eventually, the road led to a blue mountain lake nestled underneath a granite wall, with pine trees dotting the near shore. It was beautiful, and sitting around a fire later that night, we thanked Him for leading us there.           
During the years that followed, we continued to grow in our appreciation for Him. I had gone from knowing about Him to knowing Him and from knowing Him to trusting Him. It’s funny how I’d had no problem trusting Him with getting me into heaven after I die, yet it took me so long to trust Him with my life while I’m still alive. In our minds we always want to think the worst yet seeing how He led us to that beautiful place inspired confidence in Him, and we could trust that He really did want what is best for us. We developed better habits, and we once again grew closer together. We made friends with new people, they welcomed us in and we learned from each other. We still had times where one or the other of us would struggle, but slowly we were learning how to fight for each other. We’d seen how Jesus had fought for us, instead of kicking us while we were down He’d extended his hand to us, and He was teaching us how to be a team together. Now, instead of turning on each other when things got difficult, we were learning how to watch each other’s backs. This would be crucial for what came next, as shortly after a new baby got added to our team, we’d make another turn, and we’d once again be driving into the unknown.
If that experience were a lake, then this next experience would be an ocean. In fact, we crossed an ocean in order to get there. Here, we were starting out brand new, armed with the promises that He was with us and the memories of how He’d been faithful to us in the past. The first few months, we flopped around like fish out of water. We didn’t know what to do and things were spinning around us at crazy speeds. We had rich conversations almost on a daily basis, but even those didn’t keep us from foolish decisions and fighting against each other. Forgiveness was an essential part of those conversations, and it no doubt got us through many difficult times that first year. That was still before it got hard though. Our second year started off in a valley filled with sand, houses, and colorfully dressed people, all speaking so fast we kept getting left behind before the train even left the station. Our first night in that place God blessed us with the gift of laughter, a tired ‘are we out of our minds?’ kind of laughter. Still, He was with us, and He gave my wife a promise from His word. That promise kept us going when everything else said ‘turn around now.’ Our conversations thrived here, the intensity was pressing the three of us together. Seventeen months later, we moved out of that valley remembering it as “the valley of blessing.” Sometimes blessings can still wear you out, however, and that’s what happened to my wife. We were about to head into a new phase.
Travel by bus is a lot different than travel by car. In a car, you have a certain amount of freedom over your situation, you can listen to whatever you want to, you can stop for food when your hungry, and you can stop to use the bathroom when the need arises. In a bus, you are at the mercy of the driver. Sitting in the back of the bus, with dust coming in between the cracks, the bus bouncing up and down, my stomach growling and my lips dry (my remedy for the infrequent bathroom breaks), the interstate sure seemed a long, long ways away. Still, I didn’t miss it, as I was enjoying talking with God right there in the bus. I needed Him to lead us to the right place again, and He did. This time we didn’t move into a valley, we moved on top of a hill. Here we could enjoy the view and feel the fresh air on our faces again. He always knows just what we need for each phase of the journey, and that was what we needed. It seemed like our list of needs just kept getting longer though. We were over our heads right from the start. Actually we were over our heads ever since we crossed the ocean. There were many times I felt like we were swimming away from shore instead of towards it. Well at this point we couldn’t see the shore anymore, and we were getting tired from swimming. Now we had to fight for each other, all three of us, if we were going to make it there. Sometimes days would go by, even weeks, where one or the other of us would get hit. Jesus never gave up on us though. During this time we were learning something else about Him. He has enemies, and they hate it when we’re together. They’ll do everything they can to divide us in hopes of conquering us. They focus all of their energy on destroying His plan. In this battle, however, we found that we also had allies, other people who were following Him just as we were. They joined us in our conversations and together we found strength to keep going. We found that by going by bus, we had lots of company.
             
​Since then…

We might be back on this side of the ocean, but the road we’re on still feels a little precarious. In some places its more of a path than a road. Large rocks litter the trail, and large portions of gravel have been washed out by the rain. We still need to talk together a lot, the three of us, to keep on the right trail. At times we’ve gotten off track, but when we go to Him He takes us back. If we look down over the edge we can get a little queasy, yet the view is amazing, especially when we look back over where He’s taken us. We still don’t know where this path is going to lead, but we do know that its bringing us closer to Him, and we’re privileged to be on a journey like so many others who have chosen to walk by faith in Jesus instead of living for the status quo.

I don’t know about tomorrow, I just live from day to day,
I don’t borrow from its sunshine, For its skies may turn to gray.
I don’t worry o’er the future, For I know what Jesus said,
And today I’ll walk beside Him, for He knows what is ahead.

Every step is getting brighter, As the golden stairs I climb;
Every burden’s getting lighter; Every cloud is silver lined.
There the sun is always shining, There no tear will dim the eye,
At the ending of the rainbow, Where the mountains touch the sky.

​I don’t know about tomorrow, It may bring me poverty;
But the one who feeds the sparrow, Is the one who stands by me.
And the path that be my portion, May be through the flame or flood,
But His presence goes before me, And I’m covered with His blood.

Many things about tomorrow I don’t seem to understand;
But I know who holds tomorrow, and I know who holds my hand.

​-Ira Stanphill

"Welcome back to the U.S.", the officer said, handing us back our passports. He barely looked up as he hurriedly waved us through. "It's nice being a citizen sometimes," I thought, "this is a little easier than being a foreigner." I whispered this to Rachelle and she nodded her agreement as we walked over towards the baggage claim. We walked through some doors and onto a tram, then out of the tram and up an escalator. At the top of the escalator we were met by some familiar and unfamiliar faces, many of which belonged to our little nieces and nephews. We gave some hugs and then got our bags and walked up to the top level of a parking garage, from which we caught sight of Mount Rainier, sitting up in a sky filled with passing airplanes. 
We climbed into a car and descended down from the parking garage into a maze of asphalt and concrete, roads on top of roads going under roads. We weaved our way under bridges carrying electric trains and around corners leading on to on ramps and off of off ramps and eventually we conquered the traffic and approached my sister's house. As we pulled into the driveway Micah asked what the little boxes were with the poles holding them up lined up in front of all the houses along the street. For a moment I wondered myself, then I remembered about mailboxes.
After getting out of the car, I breathed in the smell of the Northwest, mostly pine trees. I thought back over our trip, how it had gone so smooth, how it was so different from three and a half years ago.

​We left for the village last Tuesday. It was a gorgeous morning, with beautiful blue skies and puffy white cumulus clouds lining the horizon. The birds were jumping from branch to branch in the trees, singing their hearts out. A warm breeze brushed past my hair and lifted a few strands as I stood on our front porch, looking out at the view of Mbeya town which was nested at the foot of the green hills. I wanted to remain standing there all day and wasn’t sure I wanted to spend such a gorgeous day riding in a bus. But by 10:30 we were packed and ready to go, so we headed out. We climbed on a bus at the terminal and settled into our seats. Micah tried to get comfortable on his dad’s lap. We headed out on a bumpy dirt road. Mud huts and coffee fields lined the narrow road as we began to leave the town behind. Clouds of dust rose up as we bounced along, the dust coming in through the opened windows and coming to a rest on our hair and clothes. Something in a rucksack that lay resting on a rack above my head, at every bump and jolt, came showering down on us in a fine powder. I began to regret my decision earlier that morning not to wear a bandanna and I made a mental note, that on future bus rides to always wear one. Within five hours we had made it to our first stop.

As we stepped off the bus a man pushed his way through the crowd and with a broad grin welcomed us warmly. Neil introduced me to him as Mwenyekiti, who had been such a great help to Neil on his survey trips in that area. He led us to two motorcycles and we climbed on, Neil and Micah on one and me on the second. Before long we were cruising along the road towards Mwenyekiti’s house with Neil’s motorcycle leading the way. Once we arrived we were welcomed by Mwenyekiti’s wife, who we called Shem. She was tall and well built. I noticed how strong her arms were. Her dark eyes were kind and her shy smile pleasant. She took our bags from us as is the custom and led us up a path that was shaded with trees and that opened into a small clearing. A simple brick house covered with a corrugated tin roof sat to the left of the clearing. Corn stood tall in rows adjacent to the house and pumpkin leaves grew tangled up beneath the corn, their round green leaves standing stiffly upright as if to compete for stature with the corn. A table was sitting outside in the shade of the house and three plastic chairs were set around it. We were invited to sit and make ourselves feel at home. Soon after Shem brought out some water, glasses and a big silver platter piled with dishes and a pot full of Ugali, beans, and cooked pumpkin leaves. Mwenyekiti sat and visited with us as we ate but Shem sat on a stool further away playing with her children and watching us. Chickens were running around the table, which reminded me of the time I tried to butcher our rooster. As I recounted the story to them Shem heard me and chuckled, shaking her head and showing off her beautiful smile. Micah, at first quite apprehensive about these new surroundings, sat on his dad’s lap. But after a short time, he got down and began to explore. To our relief he found a few pieces from some old radios and entertained himself with those for the remainder of our time there. That night we walked to a guest house only a short distance away and began for the first time to feel the fatigue from a day spent traveling. My mind was feeling the strain from speaking Swahili all afternoon and I was thankful for a place to rest. As we walked in our room I noticed what looked like a broken fan standing in the corner. It was missing a few parts, such as a guard for the blades and a plug for the cord. As I looked at it puzzled, Neil, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do, stooped down and inserted each wire into the wall outlet. Instantly the fan sputtered to life. I laughed then and shaking my head said the same thing I always say in situations like this, “Only in Africa.” We warned Micah to stay away from the whirring blades which provided us with a cool breeze in the otherwise hot room. I felt my hair then and noticed it was stiff with dust, so I went out to investigate the washroom. It was located close to our room but was shared by all the guests at the establishment. Armed with resolve to get the dust off and my trusty shower shoes I went to go wash up. I was proud of myself for braving a washroom such as that one and amazed at how far I had come since we had arrived in Tanzania from the States three years before. Finally, we arranged the blue mosquito net around the bed and turned off the light.
 
 In the morning we emerged from our dark room to find the hot sun already climbing high in the sky. A heap of our dusty clothes from the day before lay in a pile and so I decided to do a bit of handwashing since each of us had packed minimally for this trip, only bringing a few pairs of clothes. Mwenyekiti came to greet us at the guest house and walked us back to his place where we saw Shem had moved the table and chairs to a pleasant shady place below their house. She brought us a thermos full of steaming hot chai and a platter heaped with bananas and mandazi. We sat there relaxed and happy eating our chai. After Micah finished his chai he ran off to play in a sand pile that was situated by the house door.  It was a wonderful day. We sat around visiting, enjoying the relaxed environment. I held their youngest daughter who was about a year old and who was all smiles and Micah ran around with the older children. I took many mental notes about Shem’s hospitality, still having so much more to learn on this matter. Around 3pm we shouldered our bags once more and got on a bus toward the village. We waved goodbye to our wonderful hosts and I knew we would miss them.
 
On the side of the bus was printed in large letters the name Safina, which translated into English means, Ark. A faded picture of Noah’s ark was plastered on the back window. It was an ancient bus, being battered and dented but its engine still sounded strong and confident, no doubt a result of many hours of work beside the road while restless passengers stood by watching. We climbed up the steep steps towards the driver seat and looked down the long row of seats that were already filled with passengers. Relieved we found only three seats remaining and as the bus lurched forward we fell backwards into our seats, Neil in his in the back of the bus and Micah and I in the front of the bus, Micah sitting next to me. The road became more rutted and bumpy and narrowed as we traveled further away from the main towns. We followed the contour of the hilly land up and down, up and down until Micah exclaimed looking up at me with a smile, “It’s like we are on a rollercoaster!” On each descent the bus slowed, and we could hear the air from the breaks being compressed as we crossed bridge after bridge that had been placed over the creeks. We peered out the windows and saw mamas bent over in the shallow water washing their clothes while their children bathed. As we rushed over the dirt road I had a strange feeling come inside of me and I realized suddenly that what was waiting for us on this trip I had no control over. Although Neil had been there before and knew a few people and a place to stay, not one a single detail was known to me: what sort of a place we would be staying at, who we would visit with, what we would do, or even what we would encounter. Strangely this thought didn’t send me into a downward spiral anxiety attack, but I felt at total peace about it. I felt a curious mixture of excitement and freedom. As our bus rushed ever onward, I too felt as if we were rushing forward into something totally foreign and unknown, yet God already knew our ending destination. He knew what would take place during this trip. Nothing would take him by surprise and in that realization, came a great freedom. Looking back now I believe I had this presence of mind because of the many folks back home that were praying for us. As our trip progressed and as we passed through the villages the bus became more and more crowded. The people that began to fill the bus were fun to watch. Some of the men wore dark green rubber boots with plastic white and black rings encircling their calves, ankles and wrists. They wore what looked like Masai shukas although they were plain in color. I later learned these people were cow herders from the Sukuma tribe. A panga or machete hung sheathed at their wastes. The ladies climbed on with babies tied to their backs and red, white and yellow beaded necklaces encircled their necks, standing out beautifully against their dark skin. There was lots of Swahili being spoken on the bus but there were also some tribal languages that I was not familiar with. I heard two men from the village discussing me, whether I was married or not. I supposed because they couldn’t see Neil in the back since the bus was so full. I slumped down in my seat trying to look invisible, although not being successful, with me standing out like a sore thumb with my obviously white face. A kind older gentleman who I had been visiting with saw my discomfort and kindly informed the two men that I was already married. The bus was so packed that a man wrapped in a green checkered shuka stood pressed up against the side of our seat.  I could smell the scent of cow fat that many in the villagers use to massage onto their skin. Eventually there was no standing room left. If people wanted to enter the bus they would have to do so by entering in through the windows. I was thanking the Lord for our seats.

Finally, around 7 pm we made it into the village. As the bus rumbled in children caught sight of Micah through the window and began running alongside us. I peered out, surveying the area where we would spend the next few days. Corn stalks as high as a house lined the roads and paths on both sides and filled the yards in front of the houses. So that all that we could see was the bright blue sky, the green of corn stalks, and the brown of the mud brick houses and dusty roads. The bus came to a lurching halt in the “downtown” part of the village. A dozen or so simple structures with open store fronts made up dukas or shops with everything a person living in this village would need. Clothing and shoes dangled from strings hung from the eaves of these shops and plastic basins were piled up in front, brooms and mops leaning against them. A small road side place to eat was directly across the street. We grabbed our bags and climbed off the bus. My heart beat wildly in my chest as I saw the villagers watching us with suspicious stares and I could only imagine what they were thinking. Children who acted as if they’d never seen a white women or child before followed us closely behind. Micah looked uneasily about him and took my hand, squeezing it reassuringly in his. It was an unreal experience. We left the main road and walked down a smaller path that lead us to our guest house. Our room was basic. At one time the walls had been painted a pretty blue, but now over time had faded. A twin-size bed lay pushed up against the wall and a blue mosquito net was stretched over it. Except for the bed there was nothing else in the room. The washroom was situated outside the guest house, in the back courtyard. Inside, next to our room was a bar, with shelves lined with various brands of African beer bottles and a flat screen TV hung suspended from the ceiling. We went into our room which was growing dim due to the fading light outside. I searched for the light switch and where it had been there were two short wires jutting out from the wall. The metal ends were bent indicating that to turn the light on one was to grip the two live wires where the plastic was and hook the metal end together. I refused to touch them, so like an old pro Neil walked over and in a split second the wires were hooked together, and the light was on. He explained that he had already stayed in that room on one of his previous trips. Only in Africa I thought. Neil went out then to inform his friend that we had made it to the village. There was no cell reception in the village, so they had no idea we were there. By dark Neil had returned with Mwenyeji, his friend and we were introduced. As we closed our room door to leave I realized that we didn’t have a padlock for the door, so we just stuffed our valuables in a backpack and took it with us. Then we left the guest house and followed him through the village to his house. As we walked along the entire village was dark because electricity had not arrived at the village yet. Our guest house had electricity only through solar panels that were fixed to the roof. Except the sound of our footsteps scuffing along the path and a chorus of barking dogs all was silent. I looked above me at the night sky of the southern hemisphere and gazed upward in awe at the stunning spectacle of the stars shining with intense beauty, like diamonds strung along on a beautiful necklace. Finally, we arrived at Mwenyeji’s house where his wife shyly greeted us. Three wooden stools were hastily gathered and arranged in a circle in their yard. Neil and I sat, Neil visiting with Mwenyeji and me sitting quietly surveying the dark scene around me. Mwenyeji’s wife was in a broken down lean-to type structure with a grass roof, her outdoor kitchen I assumed. She was stooping over a pot cooking something over the fire. A flashlight was set on a wooden rack used for drying dishes and it cast a dull glow into the darkness. Mosquitoes began to attack my feet fiercely and I realized again that I had left the mosquito repellent in my bag back in the room. Thankfully they were not bothering Micah or Neil. Eventually we were brought into their one room house and invited to sit. A dim flashlight was set on the table which illuminated a pot of ugali in the center of the table along with a bowel filled with korokoro which Neil explained to me was a type of small fish which resembled a catfish in appearance and which was cooked whole. We set ourselves down, the mama of the house poured a pitcher of water for us to wash our hands as is the custom and then she backed out of the door leaving us alone in the room. I picked up one of the fish by its tail. Its eyes looked back at me with vacant stare. It fell to my plate with a wet, slimy plop. I refused to talk bad about the food for Micah’s sake and with a determined gulp mustered my bravery and began to eat. Surprisingly, it was very tasty. Eventually we were full and went outside, thanking the Mama of the house for the delicious meal. Her daughter brought us hand lotion then to get the smell of the fish off our hands, a very considerate and thoughtful thing to do I thought. The lotion smelled like coconut and felt good on my hands. Shortly after that we saw that Micah was very tired, so we left then and headed back to the guest house and were greeted by a room full of rowdy guys watching a soccer game on the tv. We walked into our room and began to discuss the dilemma of the size of the bed. I could not imagine sleeping in such a cramped environment and with it being so hot there even at night, but, we made due. We turned off the light and fell exhausted into bed. Noise filled our tiny room until 1:00 am. Noise of men hooting, hollering and shouting excitedly in several languages. I was sick with exhaustion by the time the they all left, and they closed the joint.

The next morning, we got up and walked to the road side mgahawa or restaurant where we could get some food and drink our morning chai. We sat outside on the porch at a plastic table. A man brought us steaming hot mugs of chai and plates heaped with oily chapatis, freshly fried. Micah was overjoyed at the sight of the chapatis, those being one of his favorite snacks here and I was thankful that not everything was foreign here in this strange new place. A group of about ten youth sat on a cement wall next to us having a lively discussion about something or another in their native language with a few Swahili words inserted here and there. The sun was already climbing high in the sky and it cast its hot glow down upon the dusty street which was mostly empty, most of the villagers having already gone out to their fields to work. We walked to a Bibi’s house and greeted her. She had met Neil before but had not yet seen Micah or I.  After we left Neil told me that while we had been visiting there he had suddenly felt very nauseous. Thankfully the nauseous feeling soon left him, but then he began to feel sick, as if he had a fever. Feeling slightly better, he decided to visit a neighboring village, about a 30-minute walk away. Halfway there was a shallow river with tall pointy grass growing up from the river bottom. People told us that at times crocodiles live in that river but at this time of year they were very few. We climbed in a boat and were rowed across to the other side. In this village the children reacted in a very similar manner when they saw us. They stared at us as if they had seen a ghost. They swarmed around Micah and he responded by jumping at them and running around them in circles. They jumped away from him and ran screaming and laughing hysterically. We had to watch Micah carefully because he didn’t quite know how to handle all the attention. We walked through the village towards some people Neil had met on his previous trip there. As we sat visiting with these acquaintances we began to hear distant singing grow louder and louder and it drew closer to where we were, I went outside to investigate and saw a crowd of young people and children singing a song as they walked together. Leading the procession were two tall strong looking men, one much older than the other. The older man’s eyes were blood shot and in his fingers was a smoldering cigarette. Both men were dressed in a skirt decorated with red and black satin. From all the Tanzanian shows I have watched I immediately recognized them as witchdoctors, the younger one probably being the apprentice. I leaned over to the mama next to me and asked her what was going on. She explained to me that in their village they had many problems with witches and were tired of them. A famous witchdoctor had recently come into their region who boasted he knew how to remove the curses and charms left by the witches. He claimed he could clean the witchcraft from a whole village by walking around, removing these things and burning them. The people that were walking behind him appeared excited and happy and they skipped down the road singing loudly in perfect rhythm. I stood there absorbing what she had just told me. What a different reality these villages were from the place where I had been raised, where there is no such thing as witches except in fiction and during Halloween when people dress up as them. In the West, only the tangible and the material make up the world in which we live in yet here the unseen spirit world was impacting these villagers in a powerful way and we were witnessing it. During this time, we went to go visit the elderly Chief of the village and his wife. We met the chief standing in front of his house. Despite his great age he stood tall and proud in an old white suit which had been decorated with yellow and green tie dye. His wife came out from the house and they both greeted us with wide smiles. I could tell as a young woman she had been very tall and beautiful. We took their hand and bowed low and greeted them respectfully. They spread out a mat and invited us to sit on their front porch. She patted her lap and invited Micah to sit there, which he did to our great relief. She was quite pleased that he had accepted her invitation. As we visited we heard the singing grow closer and we saw the procession of singers come down the path and stop only feet from us. The chief got up from his chair and his wife got up and went to greet them. The crowd parted and the Witchdoctor along with his apprentice stepped onto the porch and began talking in low tones to the Chief and his wife. I couldn’t understand much but I was so close to him I could have touched his red and black skirt. The crowd continued to sing in a strange rhythm that filled the air. In their hands they grasped chickens and ducks by their feet and they hung upside down squawking unhappily.  The witchdoctors apprentice held in his palm a small black gourd which was polished till it shone. In his other hand he held what appeared to be the tail of a cow which had been fastened onto a wooden handle. I knew from my culture study that these were the things he used in his divination of the spirit world. The crowd chanted in unison about going to make sacrifices to prevent various misfortunes from occurring. large smiles on their faces. No doubt these birds would later would be sacrificed, their blood spilled to please the ancestors.  I could not believe I was witnessing these events and I wondered at how it all had become possible. Eventually, the Chief’s house having been pronounced clean, the crowd and witchdoctors went on their way again through the path shrouded from view by the corn, no doubt on their way to the nearby neighbor’s house. After this we followed the winding path through the corn to greet another of Neil’s acquaintances. We heard a deep rumbling sound overhead and saw the clouds were hanging heavy and low over the village and had turned an eerie dark purplish grey. Bright flashes of lighting cut through the clouds and the air felt oppressively heavy. In the background we could still here the singing. The odd weather along with strange events we had witnessed made me feel as if we had descended into another world. After we reached the house we sat in the shade of a beautiful low hanging tree. Micah played with the children who were starting to realize that he was a normal kid just like them, although we still had to watch him closely. The villagers watched Micah playing with the children. They seemed happy that he was playing with their children and was already able to speak some Swahili. After only a short time we began to once more hear the approaching procession of singers. By now more people had joined the singers and about 50 people circled around us under the tree, blocking out the sun and the fresh air. The witchdoctor reappeared, walked through the opening in the fence and went into the yard of the mama we had been visiting with. She touched my shoulder and said in a kind and urgent voice, “don’t go!” and went into her yard which was hidden by view with a fence that was made from narrow bamboo stems tied together. What they were doing in there I was not sure, because I was looking around at all the black faces that were staring back at me and singing their eerie song. After the witchdoctor was done, the lady of the house gave him a chicken and they all moved on. Although a great number of children stayed behind to watch Micah. Seeing that Micah was a bit intimidated by all this attention, one mama scared them away with a stick. After these events we were all very tired and had many thoughts tumbling around in our minds. Micah as well had many questions for us. We decided to head back to the guest house and rest.  When we returned Neil lay down on the bed and I felt his forehead. He had a low-grade fever and felt achy. Thankfully before we had left the house in Mbeya I had last minute grabbed a bottle of Ibuprofen. After taking the medicine he began to improve. That night we ate rice and beans and chicken at the restaurant and it was a welcome change from the usual ugali. As we went to bed that night the blasting pulsating music from the bar echoed off our walls and I wondered how we would sleep. Thankfully like the night before Micah fell into a deep sleep. I tossed and turned till 1:00 am when they finally shut the music off.

 Once the morning light finally stole into our room I was very hesitant to get out of bed. But I gathered my wits about me and started yet another day. We went back to the restaurant to eat chicken soup and chapatis for breakfast and then returned to our room to ready ourselves for another day out visiting with people and walking in the hot sun. While we were in our room a young woman from the bar who also worked at the guest house came into our room. She did not appear drunk. She began telling us that she didn’t like Micah because he was too loud. She was saying all these terrible things to us about him, and I was shocked. This was not normal behavior for Tanzanians, in fact it had never happened the entire time we had lived in Tanzania. Eventually she left, and Neil went out front with Micah. I stayed behind in the room feeling crushed and discouraged. I could hear her yelling outside. Around this time, I also began to get sick, my stomach began paining me terribly. Journaling has become a refuge for me here, often when my thoughts are a jumbled-up mess in my mind, they seem to make more sense on paper. So, I decided to turn to my journaling during this discouraging time.  While I was journaling, my door opened, and I looked up from my writing to see the same woman come in. She had obviously had two or three beers and was staggering about, crying and in a terrible state. Her words were barely understandable. She was very upset and told me her boss had yelled at her and said mean things to her. She also apologized profusely for her words towards Micah. I gave her a hug and tried to reassure her that we cared about her and we forgave her. But she was not enough in her right mind to understand. We decided it would be a good time to get out of there and walk to visit some family members of Mwenyekiti who lived there in the village.

We walked to their house, but they were still out working in the fields, so we continued on. We came to the house of a women named Agnes, whose husband was a mechanic who worked on motorcycles and bikes. A tree stood next to their house and behind it a tiny shop full of spare parts. Under the tree, in its shade, men visited on a bench and watched the mechanic fixing a bike. We sat down on the bench and greeted everyone. A small child was standing by her father and at the sight of us she burst into tears, terrified by our different appearance. She buried her face in her father’s lap, sobbing. He laughed then and reassured us she would eventually get used to us. They invited us into their home where we sat in their living room and visited with Agnes’ husband. He told us he had learned how to be a mechanic from watching other mechanics in the village. He seemed like a very kind friendly man and we enjoyed visiting with him. He also proudly shared with us that he and his wife had been married for 19 years. While we were visiting Agnes brought out a silver tray with Ugali, dagaa  (tiny little fish cooked together in a tomato-based sauce) and pumpkin leaves cooked in fresh cow’s milk. I had never had Pumpkin leaves cooked like that, so I was glad for the new experience and they tasted delicious. Micah ate hurriedly and then dashed outside to play with the children. I was encouraged to see the kids playing nicely with Micah and that they had accepted Micah in as one of the kids. After this we went back to Mwenyeji’s house and we rested in the shade as the sun was at its peak and quite hot. They gave us roasted corn from their field and it tasted delicious. We noticed the people here were very proud of their corn, and told us how they grew it without using artificial fertilizer or chemicals.

After visiting for a while Micah and I went back to the guest house to rest. After a few hours, we could feel a fresh breeze blow in through our window and Neil came in and told us a man was there to see us. Apparently, we had stopped by his house that day to visit with him, but he had been out in his fields. I went outside with Micah and noticed the thunder clouds had passed, and it had rained somewhere because it was no longer so oppressively hot. The man took my hand and greeted me and then gave me a rucksack with a duck inside. “This is a gift for your family,” he said, grinning happily. I thanked him for the wonderful gift and satisfied, he left. I looked down at the rucksack, mentally trying to remember how to cook a duck. We put the duck in our room and went back out to say goodbye to the Bibi we have visited with the day before, since we’d be leaving the following morning. Once there I told Micah to go play over by some trees at a place where we could see him. But after a few minutes he was gone. Bibi got up, a concerned look on her face and began calling for him. His head poked out from behind the enormous trunk of a Boabob tree that was in her yard. Her expression turned from concern to fear as she yelled out for Micah to come away from the dangerous bugs and snakes in the tree. Micah, oblivious to what was going on, listened and went to find a new place to play, in the courtyard with Bibi’s grandchildren. Relieved, she explained to us that it was dangerous underneath that tree, and that there were snakes there. We were sitting there with Mwenyeji and he explained that baobab trees can live for thousands of years. He motioned towards the one in the yard and said that there was a good chance that it was about a thousand years old, and that their ancestors used those same trees. Suddenly I remembered from my culture study how baobab trees are tied in with ancestral beliefs and the spirit realm. All the details from our culture study began to come to life in a way I had not expected them to. In the courtyard around back, Micah went on to discover some ducks, chickens and pigs. Unknowingly, he told Bibi’s grandchildren that we had just been given a duck as a gift. One of her grandchildren ran out towards us to tell her Grandmother what Micah had just said. The Bibi or the Grandma got up and went in the back, soon we heard squawking and she came out with one of her chickens. I felt terrible because Micah, without knowing it had forced her into giving us a chicken. At that moment I was not so happy that Micah had learned Swahili. I mentally vowed that we would be having a long talk with him once we got back to the guest house. We turned down her gift, telling her that we had lots of bags to bring on the bus and she seemed hurt by our refusal. She tried again and asked if we would take some corn flour used to make ugali, and this time, realizing our cultural mistake of refusing someone’s generosity, we hastily agreed, hoping that this would make her feel better again. Looking back, we should have received her chicken, even if it was just because of what Micah had said. Even after living in Africa for three years it’s still hard to get out of our Western mindset. After this we went to Mwenyeji’s house for another meal of korokoro and ugali in the dark and then headed back to pack our bags for the journey the next morning. As we walked back in the silent night, I once again looked up at the night sky in awe of the beautiful stars and I remembered the One who had created them, that same God who set each brilliant star in its place was walking with us hand in hand in this foreign place, and that was a huge comfort to me. That night the guest house was blessedly quiet, which I found ironic since it was Friday night. There was no sight the girl who had been so drunk earlier that morning. We crammed onto the bed knowing that it would be just a short rest till we woke up again at 4 am to get on the bus. We fell asleep to the sound of silence and the smell of duck.

At 4 am our whole family was up, dressed and walking down the path towards the main road. We heard the engine of the Safina bus idling heavily. Neil bought our tickets and we boarded, this time both getting seats near the front. The duck was laying in the rucksack under Neil’s seat and let us know of his disapproval by occasionally squawking unhappily. People began to fill the bus again as usual. At one stop a beautiful young woman climbed on the bus with her baby tied to her back. She was carrying a large tote, and after discovering there were no seats left on the bus she put her tote on the ground next to my seat and sat down happily on it. We greeted each other. I noticed she was very friendly. At the next stop it seemed like 20 people crowded onto a bus, many of them older women who were headed to a funeral. The young mother had no chance but to stand with her baby crowded in so that it was even hard to breathe. She complained to the man collecting bus tickets, “we are going to die, stop filling up the bus!” I offered to take her baby and she happy complied, taking her out of the sling and setting her down on my lap. The little girl was beautiful like her mommy and very healthy. She wore a pretty white dress. After the crowd had reached their stop and had gotten off I was able to visit more with this new mama. She showed me a picture album that she carried with her. She showed me a picture of her in a wedding dress, holding her new husband’s hand. They looked very happy. I learned they had just gotten married this year. She showed me another picture of her standing sideways, proudly showing off her baby bump, like so many women like to do in my own culture. I looked at her then and realized perhaps we weren’t so different after all. The trip continued uneventfully except for a one instance where we stopped to fix a punctured tire. We were grateful for a chance to stretch our legs and dig medicine, which is the polite Tanzanian way of saying “use the bathroom on the side of the road.” While we were waiting for them to change the tire, Neil called Mwenyekiti, and as he wasn’t far he came to greet us. He gave me a bag full of fresh pumpkin leaves and peanuts from their garden. In exchange I gave him the duck, certain that it would be happier at their house then at ours. The tire fixed, we continued on our safari. As we neared Mbeya the police stopped the bus and told us there was a person of interest on the bus and they needed to see him. They called out his name and a man with rings around his wrists and ankles and holes bore into the lobes of his ears walked down the aisle. A young girl with a small baby tied to her back followed him. Once they were off and the bus was going again everyone in the bus became animatedly discussing what had just taken place. Some thought he had stolen someone’s wife and whoever had been stolen from had called the police to pull over this bus. Since there were so few buses that passed that way it hadn’t been hard for the police to know which bus to stop. Neil and I looked at each other with eye brows raised and shook our heads. Wife stealing, who had ever heard of such a thing.
 
After we finally got back to Mbeya and walked through the door of our house I looked around me, never having been so thankful to be home. The light filtered in through our lace curtains, reflecting off the yellow walls. I put down my bags and flopped onto the couch and emmediatly fell asleep. That night we had pumpkin leaves cooked with ground peanuts. The aroma and taste were wonderful, and it brought me back emotionally to the world in the village we had just left behind. I thought back to all the ways God had blessed us on this trip and all the answered prayers. I thought about the events that had taken place during our short trip and realized that God knew our time was going to be short, so he allowed us to catch a small picture into what being in a village is like and what reality is like for the people living there. For me, personally I was amazed that even though I had gotten so few hours of sleep, I had had so much physical and mental energy as I interacted in Swahili and in such a different culture all the while walking around in the hot sun. Our friends in the village had made us feel very welcome, blessing us with gifts of duck, corn flour, pumpkin leaves and peanuts. I thought on a passage I had recently read In Isaiah which seemed to confirm that we had not been walking alone,
 
“Then your salvation will come like dawn, and your wounds will quickly heal. Your godliness will lead you forward, and the glory of the LORD will protect you from behind. Then when you call, the LORD will answer. ‘Yes, I am here,’ he will quickly reply. ‘Remove the heavy yoke of oppression. Stop pointing your fingers and spreading vicious rumors! Feed the hungry and help those in trouble. Then your light will shine out of the darkness, and the darkness around you will be as bright as noon. The LORD will guide you continually, giving you water when you are dry and restoring your strength. You will be like a well-watered garden, like an ever-flowing spring”  (Isaiah 58:8-11). ​

The sun was just peeking out over the African horizon. A large black mountain, shaped like the letter m, sat to the right in stark contrast to the now blazing orange sky. The distinct shapes of African umbrella trees along with palm trees stretched out over the landscape, creating more black outlines against the early morning sky. A pair of cows moved slowly across the orange backdrop, methodically pulling a plow, with a farmer plodding them along from behind. The air was fresh and clean and carried the smell of growing plants, the ground still moist from the rain the previous night. The morning sounds were drowned out by the sound of the motorcycle as we cruised along over the rough dirt road. We bounced along, me holding my backpack in one hand and a chicken in the other, the driver telling me to balance my weight so we could go faster, and the big lady on the back holding a bag full of chickens. I started wondering how I got to be here, crammed on the back of this motorcycle watching such a beautiful sunrise, and decided it was better than waiting back at the bus stop for the chance to hitch a ride with a semi-truck that might pass by, being that I’d already missed the only bus for the day.
 
Just the day before, I’d been wondering how I got to another place, that being sitting up in front of a small village church. I had sat there alternatively looking out through the windows at the freshly planted corn fields and then looking back at the congregation, who I sat facing. I’d come to this village to visit a friend I’d met at a literacy workshop while hoping to learn more about the languages spoken in the area, but not really knowing what to expect. Sure enough, I hadn’t expected to be seated up on the stage in that small brick church building, and as I sat there I had another surprise when I heard him telling the congregation that I was going to teach.
 
These are just two of many experiences where God’s taken me places where I never thought I’d be. No matter how many times I've felt like I'm in over my head, not knowing what to expect doesn't seem to get any easier. Even so, God is using these places to teach me to rely on the people around me as I rely on Him. Over and over I’ve found him to be trustworthy, and when it's all said and done I wouldn’t trade away any of these experiences.
 
Not long ago, I heard someone say that the offspring of a lion aren’t too concerned about possible predators. They roll around, run and play knowing that if any predator is going to get to them, they’d have to go through their parents first. These little lion cubs might not know a whole lot about the world around them, but they know who their parents are. It’s kind of nice going through life knowing you’re the child of a Lion. 

The grey skies blend with the horizon, illuminated by the spray coming up off the waves. Up and down, up and down, the boat pitches back and forth over the sea. Minutes roll into hours, hours into days, and days into weeks, and time, unstopping, unreturnable, rolls on in its deceptive sameness. Each day carries me forward, closer to something unseen yet not unknown. Though at times my confidence wavers, it is set, I know where I'm going, and I know who is taking me. Yet the two of us are not alone, there are other voices in the boat. In fact, it is quite loud.

We are all talking together with the captain, and it's a pleasant conversation. The minutes ticking by, and the waves rocking the boat. Suddenly, I'm aware I don't hear the captain's voice anymore. I guess I must have fallen asleep again, lulled by the voices of the waves into a comforting dream. Now I'm wide awake, someone is yelling at me, screaming for my attention. I look toward this little voice, and he's soaked and clinging to the edge of the boat. "How long was I out?" I ask the captain. "Nevermind that, just help the little voice," replies the captain. I move over and find another voice already drying him off with her towel. "Thanks," I say, "I'll try not to sleep like that." "The captain keeps waking me up too," she says, "I dreamt we forgot where we were going." "Thanks," the little voice says, "I was getting kind of cold, but I feel warm now." "I'm just glad we're all in this boat together," I say. Deep down I know that if we weren't all together with the captain we'd each be underwater. 

The captain; I feel reassured ever time I talk with him. Long ago, I decided to get in his boat. It took a while for me to trust him with his own boat, and looking back I feel a little foolish about that now, but not in an ashamed or guilty kind of way, the captain has a way of taking those thoughts away. What sold me on the boat in the first place was the destination; I wanted to get someplace, and the captain said he was the way to get there. Since I've been in the boat, I've learned a lot about myself and about how to navigate, mostly from watching the captain. I've often been surprised by the route he's taken, it's definitely not the way I would have chosen, but that's because when you go against the current the progress is often slow. The captain is always guiding the boat against the current, and he doesn't seem to be afraid of a little wind, some waves, and a good storm either. The progress is slow and steady, and despite my daydreaming from time to time I'm carried along.

I've actually never been to where we're going. In fact, no one has, except the captain. I've heard a lot of voices say they want to go to this place, but for some reason most of them never get in the boat. I know a little bit about where we're going along the way, but I have to admit I'd be pretty lost without the captain. He keeps welcoming in new voices into the boat too, some of them I don't understand too well yet, but they all seem to love him. I think this might be why it's taking a while to get to our destination, the boat keeps going into these crazy places searching out these other voices, but I don't really mind, as long as I'm with the captain. Come to think of it, it's actually pretty exciting when new voices come into the boat, and I think I'd like for the captain to teach me how to search for them better. So I guess it doesn't really matter how long it takes to get to the destination, sometimes I feel like I've already reached it anyway, like the captain is the destination. Still, I'm excited about what the captain has told me about it, he said his Dad lives there, and that once I get there I'll never daydream again. There's a whole bunch more he told me about it but a lot of it borders on to awesome for me to imagine, more beautiful than a sunset over some majestic snow covered mountain, anyway I'm just looking forward to not daydreaming again and meeting the captains's Dad. 

We start visiting with the captain again, asking all sorts of questions about the days ahead. He answers with just what we need to know, nothing more, nothing less, explains what he wants from us, and then reassures us that he'll be with us. I have to be honest, sometimes this annoys me. I wish he would just tell me everything, but then I remember that I probably wouldn't understand anymore anyway, the way he guides the boat. I decide I'm along for the ride, and I go about doing what he told me to do the best I can. As I'm doing this, the continuous ups and downs of the sea impose themselves upon me, alternatively soothing me to sleep and accusing me of sleeping. For what seems the millionth time, I snap out of it, and feeling the breeze on my face, I ask the captain to remind me what he had me doing. 

The sea is tricky in that it appears to go on forever, making it easy to forget where one is, yet someone with experience knows just what to look for. It takes focus and concentration, a constant awareness of one's surroundings. The waves can be disorienting, especially when one starts listening to them. The sea is full of voices, and they all seem to be talking at the same time. Which ever one you listen to starts to get stronger, and it's almost like they're all competing with each other for followers. The best way to not get pulled in is to learn the voice of the captain real well. Thankfully, I got in his boat, so he's never very far away from me. It's also nice having the other voices in the boat with me, we might have our disagreements sometimes, but they're usually pretty good at waking me up and getting me to refocus on what's going on around me. Someday, when we've crossed this sea together and reached our destination, I'm sure we'll all have plenty of stories to tell, and I bet they'll all be about the captain!

​While visiting the fair looking for chickens to buy, I struck up a conversation with a guy doing business there. He was standing next to his mother at a small table, and they were both excited to visit with me. We greeted each other and talked a little bit about where we each were from, than he told me, "you know what, you and I share the same Baba, both of our peoples where created by God.” "That’s right," I agreed, "God is the creator of all of us." He agreed, and said, “that’s the reason why our people get along so well with yours.” That comment caught my attention a little more, so I prodded a little deeper, “what about all the other peoples?" I asked. “Oh, I don’t know about them, they certainly weren’t created by God like we were." He said. This short exchange reminded me how easy it is to assume that everyone sees the world the same way I do, while in actuality without questioning further, we’re likely to leave the conversation each thinking something completely different from what the other was thinking, like ships passing in the night.  

​Like bubbles bouncing back and forth on a screensaver, we are constantly coming in contact with other people, other ideas, and new information. What we do with these encounters, how we interpret them and how we process them, is directly dependent on the encounters we’ve already had, the things we already “know” starting from way back when we were infants.
 
These things we already know comprise a fluid structure inside of our brains, and we miraculously access this information when we need it. We are continually adding to this structure, tacking on new meanings, ideas, and concepts to the words we already know. An example of how this works is the word rainbow. In our culture, this word can bring up many different things in our minds. On a basic level, a rainbow is a group of colors appearing in the sky, often after a rain. But the word rainbow can convey a whole lot more meaning than just some colors in the sky. Depending on the context, it can remind us of the story of Noah and the promise of God to never again judge the earth with water, or it can remind us of parades and a huge movement going on in many western countries. Our encounters with this word shape the images which come into our minds when we hear it. For someone new to western culture, they might think they understand when they hear the word, but chances are there is a whole lot of information that they’re still missing, or that they’re filling in from their own culture. The same thing happens to us when we try to learn another culture. Our past experiences shape how we understand words and how we view the world in the future.
 
Due to the sheer amount of information we come in contact with every day, there is no way we can hold on to all of it, so our brains sort it out for us by connecting what we can understand to what we already know, and what we don’t understand either gets set aside and discarded, gets loosely placed in a sort of “holding area”, or gets improperly connected to something we already know. The latter of these is what often leads to misunderstanding and frustration, especially in a cross-cultural setting.
 
For many of us who come from the West, we have access to an unlimited number of books in our language, and we have a vast knowledge of the world around us. We’ve been educated, we see possibility, and we want to make the world a better place for everyone. However, there is a danger that all of this knowledge will make us arrogant, that at the best we’ll be well intentioned but at the least we’ll be lazy, and we’ll unknowingly fall into the trap of making assumptions about others who are different than us. Two assumptions we can make are assuming that the same ideas come into a person’s mind for a word we use, and assuming that the same ideas come into our mind for a word that others use. In reality however, while there will be commonalities, the structures we’ve built in our minds will also have significant differences, due to different experiences, especially when speaking to those raised in a different culture than our own. If we want to really get to know those who are different than us, we have to work at it, learn how to ask good questions, and not rely on assumptions. This is especially true when discussing more abstract ideas, such as God, sin, and salvation. 

​Finite, limited, Pour on the humility.
Life is complex, much too big for me.
Add another culture, when I don’t understand my own,
I used to think I could, till I was all grown.
I’m seeing a correlation,
Between knowledge and the unknown,
It’s an interesting relation,
And no, it’s not my own.
 
Think of your understanding like a bubble,
And as it starts to grow,
It will meet a larger area of things it doesn’t know.
Based on this projection,
The ones who truly know the most,
Should be among the humblest and most gracious of all folks.

​Infinite, Unlimited, awesome Sovereignty,
Life is complex, but it’s all designed by you.
You created all the cultures, you know everything about me,
There never was a time, when you didn’t have a clue.
For you there’s no equation
You’ve nothing left to know
God in your position,
High upon your throne.
 
If you’re understanding were a bubble,
It wouldn’t have any edges,
And nothing could exist,
Where your bubble didn’t persist.
Yet despite your high exalted place,
You came into our human race,
You showed us humility
and brought us truth and grace.

​ We walked through the tiny airport and out the doors, pushing past men in suits holding pieces of paper with names scrawled across them. We were greeted by a vast open grassland made up of rough tufts of dead brown grass and dotted here and there with acacia trees. This was Songwe, just outside of Mbeya. Suddenly, the prairie rose up and turned into dark green hills, rising up above the plains. It was a far cry from the hot, steamy, muddy city we had just been in an hour and a half before, which was in the middle of its heavy rains. We paused to take in the scene, and then hurried across the small parking lot to climb into the waiting bus that would take us into town.
 
Before we had climbed aboard the plane in Dar es Salaam I was filled with excitement over this new adventure that lay ahead of us, although now as I sat looking out at the passing landscape, I began to feel lonesome for all the things familiar we had left back in the city. Field after field of brown, dried, bent over corn stalks followed my gaze and was only occasionally broken up by strings of small houses built with red clay bricks and covered with corrugated tin. Once in awhile we passed by workers piling light yellow freshly husked corn into large piles, ready for the trucks to haul them away. The vehicles in front of us kicked up huge dust clouds that settled over the already rain parched ground. I began to miss the greenery of the Coast and started feeling a bit uncertain. Life in Dar had been coming at me so fast I hadn’t had time to process all the changes hovering over the horizon for our family. Now instead of sky scrapers and palm trees jutting up against the backdrop of the Indian Ocean there were large brown hills dotted here and there with a smudge of green forest. It stood out in contrast to the beautiful blue sky. The bus ascended and descended as it climbed hills and followed them down. I began to feel the sun cast its hot glow over our seats in the bus, and I became acutely aware that I was wearing a sweater, and peeled it off. I thought about Micah’s winter hat that lay in his bag and all of our friends that had told us it would be cold here, and now I couldn’t help but feel as if the hat in Micah’s bag, and my sweater, were mocking my ignorance.
 
After our driver pulled the bus to a stop, we got out, paid him, and walked to our room. Once the sun had passed below the horizon we began to feel the air change and we felt a strange sensation which we hadn’t felt in a very long time. My toes became cold and I wished for shoes, which I had none. Out came the sweaters, hats and stockings. For dinner, we asked the night guard, and he directed us to a small tucked away restaurant. Once we were seated we were served plates heaped with steaming hot rice, beans and meat cooked in mchuzi sauce. We drank hot chai in plastic red mugs which brought warmth to our shivering limbs. I decided that perhaps Mbeya wouldn’t be so bad after all, if all the food was as good as this. That night as I crawled under the thick blanket and settled into sleep my last thought was how strange it was that I couldn’t hear the distant call to prayer from the mosque that I had become so accustomed to hearing as it danced upon the night air and in through our windows. Now only a thick blanket of silence surrounded me and I fell asleep.
 
In the Morning we woke up and were surprised by how cold it was, probably made worse by the fact that the rising sun couldn’t reach into our little room. We dressed hurriedly under the blankets and once we were all ready, Neil in his coat, Rachelle in her wrap, and Micah in his hoodie and stocking cap, we all walked to breakfast. After some hot milk and coffee, eggs and toast, we headed out for church.
 
The service was held in a simple small rectangular structure that was covered with wooden boards, painted white but weathered with age. Once we entered and sat down I could see the bright morning sun casting its rays through the spaces between each worn board, its effect quite pleasant as it cast shafts of light across the front of the church where the leader was standing. The service encouraged me greatly. The speaker spoke carefully and with great conviction so that not only could I understand everything he was saying, I could also see his heart for his congregation and how he valued the truth being taught from the Word of God. He was teaching from Jeremiah about false prophets and how their words were nothing more than foolish lies, or stubble that would be blown away by the wind. But the words of the Lord are strong and true, unable to be broken or removed. In Jeremiah 23:29 God asks the question, “’Does not my word burn like fire?’ ‘is it not like a mighty hammer that smashes a rock to pieces?’” As my eyes read and re-read the verse my thoughts strayed to a rock wall so tall and unmoving it didn’t seem that anything could break it down. It was the wall so many people, dear to my heart both here and back home, had unconsciously built inside their hearts against the truth of the gospel. So many times I had felt so inadequate to break down the wall. Even taking a chip out of it has seemed impossible. The pastor admonished his congregation to stand firm during these end times full or false prophets and their prophecies. He gave another example of David when as a young shepherd boy, he went to Saul to tell him that he would slay the giant Goliath. Saul wanted David to wear his heavy amour, the helmet, breast plate, shield and sword. But David refused. Instead he went out armed with his faith in God. Before he slew the giant I imagine the watching army thought he was crazy to go against a foe as fearsome as Goliath so poorly equipped. Yet if they had known David’s leader, the one whose honor David went out to preserve, they would have understood. He was the God who had delivered David from the paw of the bear and from the teeth of the lion. Now, he would also deliver David from the giant Goliath. And so David went out against incredible odds, believing that his God would be enough, and he was. The pastor ended his sermon, urging us all to Simama imara katika imani, to stand firm in your faith!
 
As the pastor sat down and an elder stood up to give the morning announcements my thoughts strayed to the Sunday before and the events that had happened on that day. Our church and our organization here had partnered together to put on an early going away service for us. Although we knew the event was being planned they had kept many details a secret from us. On the day of the event we went to church as usual and found many of the mamas had come together to help prepare a meal after the service for everyone. After the morning class was over more and more people began showing up for the service to say goodbye to us as our time in Dar was winding down. After a short time, our family was asked to stand up and go outside of the church while everyone inside stayed seated and continued on with the service. We walked outside and were ushered into the church office, where these African clothes were lying on a desk. We put them on, and then walked back outside and around the front of the church. We walked down the middle of the aisle, awkwardly dancing to the beat of the music as we moved to the front of the church. Once we walked up to the front we were told to turn around, face the congregation and sit in three chairs which were there waiting there for us. We sat down and the service continued. From where I was sitting I could easily see all those who had come. The church was packed full of people. I began to pick out the faces of our neighbors. I was expecting some of our co-workers to be there along with the folks from our church, but I wasn’t expecting to see so many of our neighbors there. As I looked outside I saw others making there way in. Later, I learned that they had all been invited them to the service. I saw the beautiful face of Mama Elena. The woman I had spent many a lazy afternoon with, sitting on her colorfully woven mkeka talking about life here and enjoying how honest and frank she always was with me. I saw another face, a teenage girl who was always smiling. One day she was sitting at a shop by our house and she had a jump rope. I joined her and we laughed and laughed as we tried to jump rope in skirts. And another, Bibi, who had tried her best to explain the meaning of Swahili proverbs to me and share her natural plant cures. So many others were there. I knew that even though they had been invited, they by no means had felt obligated. I knew they were there because they were my friends. During the service the leadership from our organization came up and thanked the church for helping our family through the crazy transitions of getting accustomed to a new language and culture. Our co-workers gave us gifts and later we were surrounded as our brothers and sisters in Christ laid their hands on us and prayed for us, entrusting us into the hands of God. Later, a few of the church leaders stood up and gave us advice for moving forward. After, we were given a chance to stand and give words of appreciation to everyone present. Then, the service was over and everyone got up and began to mingle together in morning greetings and conversation. I walked over and began greeting my neighbors, still amazed they had come. They wore their rosaries plainly visible; others wore their head coverings and brightly colored gowns. They were all full of smiles, hugs, hand shakes and greetings. They gave us gifts, and we took a lot of pictures. My heart was bursting because I felt God had shown me a miracle of his faithfulness.
 
When we made the move to that community it had been a hard decision. The house wasn’t anything like what we had envisioned, tucked away in between several other houses, with no grass or trees or open space. I made the decision to move there based on some verses from 2 Chronicles. I saw the community that we were preparing to move into as an impenetrable wall, as a dark valley full of challenges. But a few days before we were to give the landlord our answer as to whether or not we would take the house God gave me 2 Chronicles 20. Through that passage he told me a few things. First that he would fight for us. Second he acknowledged that there would be a valley, but in the end the valley would end up to be a valley of blessing. Third he promised that he rewards faith. And so we went and we jumped in. On the really hot miserable days when our Swahili was terrible and our energy at its lowest God pulled us up off the tile floor and pushed us out the door to sit with whoever was nice enough to listen to our broken speech. But they listened, or at least pretended too, and they accepted us in to their community.
 
​After church, as I got into the car and waved goodbye to our neighbors, co-workers, and friends a flood of emotion washed over me and I wondered, had our church family and community seen how much we loved them? Had they seen the love of Christ? As we passed through the church gates and headed out onto the narrow street the rain began to fall. At the same time the road became flooded with people coming from a different kind of celebration, a wedding. The bride and groom were coming our way and everyone was fighting for a chance to catch a glimpse of them. We sat comfortably in the car with the rain drops accumulating on the windshield, waiting for a way to clear through the heavy crowd. The brightly colored madiras, or gowns, which the women wore, the walls of the houses worn dark with age and the tall silhouettes of palm trees against the steel grey sky made for a vivid memory I won’t soon forget. As I sat and watched the excitement of the crowd I realized I had been in a crowd just like this one, at this exact location only two months before. I had been there peeling onions, pounding garlic, and slicing tomatoes. Later, after the bride had arrived I had swayed to the music of the drums as the bride and groom were given gifts. I watched my son, Micah sit on the mat with the rest of the little boys eating rice pilau with his hand. I spotted my husband, Neil, across the yard talking to some of the men. In that moment I caught a glimpse of the valley of blessing God had brought us through. We came to Tanzania 2 ½ years ago with no Swahili or understanding of life in this context. He put us in a location where I would have never dreamt of living. But God, in all his inconceivably infinite knowledge must have known it was what we needed. We mourned with our neighbors and friends as we experienced grief over lives taken too early. During many funerals I saw a quiet strength in the women who surrounded me, something within their beautiful dark eyes that seemed all too familiar with the pain of loss, yet still so resilient, unwilling to be taken down by pain of loss. Many times we rejoiced too with them during wedding celebrations and when babies were born. I loved watching the women dance at weddings. Their hair either braided in intricate fashion, or covered, wrapped beautifully with a scarf which matched their gowns exactly, their faces alight with joy and their skin glowing with the fragrant oil. Our brightly colored gowns swayed back and forth, back and forth as we danced to the rhythm of the music. Although I was always watching them, trying to figure out just how to dance.  Now I know what it is like to have my heart be two places at once. My heart will always be with my family and friends on American soil where I was raised and became the person I am today. But now, my heart is also there in that little community tucked in behind the Azania bus stop. That tiny little dirt trek in a vast maze of twisted alleyways that make up Dar-es-Salaam. It is my valley of blessing.
 
Now as I found myself sitting in the simple little church building on the other side of Tanzania, hours away from that little community in Dar-es-Salaam, I thought about the challenges ahead. We are beginning to gain a better knowledge of the people group we might end up working with and the second language we possibly could end up learning. The challenges that loomed as dark silhouettes hovering in the distance are now beginning to take on form as we move closer to reality; challenges such as isolation, loneliness, and frustrations over our own inadequacy.  Are we ready for the huge job ahead of us?
Will the things we have learned be enough to bring us through the fire when we use up all of our physical and mental resources? Or will they be blown away like chaff in the wind leaving us with nothing but exhaustion and frustration?
 
Once the service was over we greeted the pastor and made some new acquaintances. Our time in Mbeya stretched into days. We spent hours walking around the city, exploring different neighborhoods and learning the layout of the streets. We met with some dalalis (in English the closest thing might be a realtor) and were shown many houses ranging from huge sprawling structures to three simple rooms with the toilet and kitchen outside. I began to wonder if what we wanted actually existed, and if it did, how in the world would we find it being new to the area. Micah began to miss all things familiar and the cold weather was causing sore throats and sniffles. We actually started to miss the warm, humid air of Dar es Salaam. One night, while Micah was feeling homesick and Neil and I were both very tired, I closed my eyes trying to find refuge from my doubts but I found no reprieve when my thoughts sent darts of fear into my heart. Then, with strength not my own I reached out and took my Bible and it fell open to Isaiah 49:4 where Isaiah wrote, “but my work seems so useless! I have spent my strength for nothing and to no purpose, yet I leave it all in the Lord’s hand; I will trust God for my reward.” Then I continued reading and came across Isaiah 50: 10 where God says, “If you are walking in darkness without a ray of light, trust in the Lord and rely on your God.” When my eyes fell upon that verse my heart skipped a beat. That verse encapsulated the very feeling within me. It was as if God was shaking me by my shoulders shouting, “Don’t forget all that I have accomplished for your family! How easily you forget everything I have done for you over the last couple years. How I love it when my children rely upon me.” In that moment I experienced how the word of God is truly like a strong hammer that breaks down fear, guilt, and shame. Everything the enemy wants us to build up against God. That night the question I asked myself at church earlier that week was answered. Only time will tell if we’re ready for the task ahead, but one thing I know. It is the same thing David knew as he entered into King Saul’s royal tent to announce he was willing to fight the giant Goliath. Our enabler is God. We are the vessels through which he chooses to show His glory and strength and when we feel weak, he remains strong. His Word is like an all consuming fire, like a strong hammer that brings to nothing that which it hits. He will be glorified. So even when nothing makes sense and the future is so unknown we walk step by step, hand in hand with our Leader as he guides us along the path he has stretched out for us.

We have been blessed. We have many people praying for us and encouraging us. Sometimes we wonder why us? We are just trying to live like anyone else should live, looking around to learn appropriate ways to act in society, trying to serve the local body of believers, trying to live honorably with our neighbors, trying to respect those around us as people created and loved by God as they are. We're not great evangelists, we still stumble over our words a lot and at times fail to express ourselves, sometimes we feel brave, sometimes we feel like fools, and most times we just feel normal. 

Even though we feel normal, we do need people praying for us, and we do need encouragement to keep going, yet I can't help but admire those who are running this same race without any recognition, those who are faithful to their Leader day in and day out, those who invest in the lives of others, not living for themselves, without anyone ever noticing. 

The good works of some are clearly evident, preceding them to judgment, but those that are otherwise cannot be hidden. -1 Timothy 5.25

And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart. -Galatians 6.9