Tonight I write to you hearing the rain fall on the tin roofed building I am in. My time in the Sudan is coming rapidly to a close. There are things ahead that signal that the inevitable is impending. The last class to teach. A special dinner together. Visiting to do. Packing looms on the sidelines as the candle burns at both ends to try and buy time. Here. Now.
I am here now. That is the thought that penetrates all of the leaving. Here and thankful. Glad for this season. Doing my best to live fully in the midst of it. Not wanting to miss a thing of the goodness in this place; the students in the class; the people in the village; the friends on the base. Soon I will fast from all of these things, and so now I am feasting.
The only problem is that I’m not sure how it is possible to live fully in the present without somehow stealing anticipation from the future.
My sister is the greatest anticipator of the future that I have ever met. She is constantly looking ahead, delighting in what is going to unfold. Several times a year, life is like Christmas morning for her as she loses sleep going over and over in her mind the impending wonderful.
Me? I can't remember the last time I lost sleep from wonder. And objectively, looking both back on my life and ahead to what waits, there are a lot of reasons. The Bible also discusses these things with some clarity. Live fully in the present (Psalm 118:24). Anticipate heaven (1 Peter 1:3-5). What God has planned for my future is good (Jeremiah 29:11, Romans 8:28). I am not saying that an emotion of giddiness must accompany thoughts about the future. But I am asking you to consider - when you think about the future, do you let yourself anticipate what God is working out in your life? Do you have a hope for the future that you let yourself feel?
Time has passed and now I am finishing this post in Nairobi. Thankful for the days in Doroji that, by grace, were mostly well lived and well loved. In the last days of my time there, in the whirlwind of goodbyes and moving on, lack of sleep and a floods of both numbness and emotion, something happened. From no understanding of my own, leaving the land of my heart for a calculated choice of will, I felt it: a flicker of excitement for what lies ahead, whatever it is. Surprisingly this butterfly of anticipation did not rob from the present. It was enveloped in the peace of God assuring me that I was exactly where I need to be. Right here. Right now.
Wednesday 11 August 2010
Friday 6 August 2010
In Transition
Doroji is a place of change. Every couple of weeks, a plane lands. This plane carries goods and people into our isolated world here, and with each person that arrives, life here changes a little bit. Senses of humour arrive and make us smile more. Encouragers disembark and build us up. Servant-hearted people find their way into nooks and crannies that the rest of us didn’t even think about before. Life steps down off of the steps and reminds us to drink deep of the well that is around us. Every soul that comes brings us something new.
Inevitably, the plane leaves again. It carries with it people whose attributes are dearly missed. The peaceful one who brought calmness with their presence. The organized one who made life smoother for everyone. The joyful ones who are always happy to see you, no matter what kind of day you had and no matter how you are feeling about yourself and the rest of the world. Friendship and kindness fly away to a new place that they need to be for a while. Though many of these people return at sometime, Doroji is transitional enough that it is unlikely that the group that sits here tonight as I write will gather together again in one place again this side of heaven after the next plane has come and gone.
I think this is a parody of life. This week, a figurative plane took off in the passing away of someone that I love. All of his attributes that I could list I will sum up by saying that I was always glad when he was there, and always sorry to see him go. When he was there, our family laughed more, relaxed more, enjoyed more. What I know for sure is that the only way it hurts when someone is gone is because we loved them, and as hard as it is to see that plane fly we are so glad that it landed in the first place.
Literally, my plane will take off from Doroji soon and transition me back to another world. Whatever it is that I have brought here for this season will return with me, and only memories of it will remain. I hope that the flower that I have planted in this place will offer blossoms and fruit long after my plane has landed somewhere new. And though the journey my uncle has taken now is not one he will return from, I am sure that this earth is richer because he walked among us for a while. Goodbye dear Uncle Bob. We will miss you because we loved you.
Inevitably, the plane leaves again. It carries with it people whose attributes are dearly missed. The peaceful one who brought calmness with their presence. The organized one who made life smoother for everyone. The joyful ones who are always happy to see you, no matter what kind of day you had and no matter how you are feeling about yourself and the rest of the world. Friendship and kindness fly away to a new place that they need to be for a while. Though many of these people return at sometime, Doroji is transitional enough that it is unlikely that the group that sits here tonight as I write will gather together again in one place again this side of heaven after the next plane has come and gone.
I think this is a parody of life. This week, a figurative plane took off in the passing away of someone that I love. All of his attributes that I could list I will sum up by saying that I was always glad when he was there, and always sorry to see him go. When he was there, our family laughed more, relaxed more, enjoyed more. What I know for sure is that the only way it hurts when someone is gone is because we loved them, and as hard as it is to see that plane fly we are so glad that it landed in the first place.
Literally, my plane will take off from Doroji soon and transition me back to another world. Whatever it is that I have brought here for this season will return with me, and only memories of it will remain. I hope that the flower that I have planted in this place will offer blossoms and fruit long after my plane has landed somewhere new. And though the journey my uncle has taken now is not one he will return from, I am sure that this earth is richer because he walked among us for a while. Goodbye dear Uncle Bob. We will miss you because we loved you.
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