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It is 6:50am, and I have been awake since 3am, due to jet lag, I guess. Rather than lay awake idle a few hours ago, I decided to attempt being productive, even though it is completely dark in our room and two people are still sleeping. There is a small photo studio across and down the street from our little guesthouse here in Nairobi, and so the project began by pulling off pictures to be printed this morning before we leave for Tanzania, so that I can pass them out to the students and staff when I arrive. However, that task only really lasted until 4am, and I still couldn’t sleep. So, I decided to categorize my pictures from 2011 – organizing them by four folders: Angel House, Angel Secondary, Lawrence, and Community.
And I am reminded, in these last four hours, how rich my life really is and has been. A picture really is worth a thousand words, and so I try to wrap my mind around the life that these thousands of pictures encompass…everything from opening day at the school to the wedding celebration the community threw for Lawrence and I as we were leaving. Scholarship student lunches, tree planting day, sports matches with other high schools, swimming in the river, making no bake cookies over an open fire in the backyard at the kids’ house, dance parties with the littles, and countless visits to student homes and staff homes. Tanzanians practice radical hospitality, and relationships are the most important thing in life.
I am so excited for Dee Ann and Carrilea to soon experience the family of people that God has brought together in Tarime town and Gamasara Village. There is no place in the world that could be quite like Angel House & Angel Secondary School, and I look forward to seeing how God uses the two of them within the tapestry that is being woven each day on the ground here in Africa. I also look forward to seeing how God will change them. He has changed me, from the inside out – my entire perspective on life, my priorities, my faith…forever changed. And my fervent prayer and my deepest desire is that He is doing that same work in the hearts of the orphaned and abandoned children at Angel House, within the students from the community who attend Angel Secondary, and the teachers and house staff who work wholeheartedly day in and day out on behalf of these dear children.
May He bring Himself glory, over and over and over again.
Part of my work here in the United States, in addition to traveling and speaking to individuals and groups, is to write grants in an effort to fund our continued construction of Angel Secondary.I know that I love things that smell good. The little gym I recently joined here in Nairobi has a shower room that someone who works as an aromatherapist, and when I walk in from the city smells of smog and into that sweet scent of clean, herbal, freshness, I am immediately put into a wonderful frame of mind. In addition, hugging Lawrence is one of my favorite things to do, not only because his arms have become home, but also because he has good taste in cologne and generally smells pretty awesome. I too, have found a body splash I love so much that I honestly feel sorry for the people around me, because the more I become accustomed to the scent, the more I spray on to be able to still smell it, which I’m sure makes standing next to me absolutely intoxicating to anyone around me.
A few days ago, I was headed down to Tanzania in a cramped little shuttle, a mini-van shared with 15 other people and their luggage, and I kept on smelling a lovely fragrance. It was so pleasing to catch a whiff of it once in a while that I didn’t really think anything of it. A few hours into our drive, I finally thought to myself, “Wow, that smells like my shampoo.” Then I still sat for a little while longer before I came to the realization that I had definitely been smelling my shampoo for the last two hours, and though enjoyable to sniff, I didn’t look forward to seeing why I was smelling it more strongly now. I looked into the bag, and almost had to laugh…that particular pocket of my backpack had about 12 things inside, each and every one of them completely covered in sticky, soapy shampoo. And I had no towel, napkin, or tissue with which to do anything about it until our arrival in Tanzania five hours later. A few things made me sit back and ponder for a minute that day, and on the days since, when a trace of something sweet has caught my attention.
My main thought, in this rambling collection of ideas, is that I want so badly for my life to be a sweet fragrance for God to breathe in…an intentional effort of bringing him praise and glory. One of my favorite songs is sung by Shane and Shane - We Will Seek You First Lord - with the following lyrics, that have echoed in my mind for the last three days.
May our praises rise as incense,
Oh Lord, to You.
May our worship be a fragrance,
Oh Lord, to You.
Oh, how I would love it if God considered my worship of Him a fragrant offering. My life is getting ready to change in a huge way. And though I will be far away from this land that I love for an extended period of time, I don’t want to lose the lessons I have learned here. I’m afraid that a lot of us, me included, walk through our lives like I traveled with that backpack full of overflowed shampoo. The funniest part about that whole story is that you just simply couldn’t tell from the outside; apparently the fabric of the bag was strong enough that the shampoo wasn’t even seeping through. And I think that most people in life walk around trying to portray how strong they are on the outside to everyone else, and if you actually took a look on the inside of their hearts, it would be a slippery, surprisingly messy conglomeration of emotions, heartache, and unrealized dreams. And it’s okay to be messy and still becoming…but I don’t want to just be an accidental fragrance. I want to be like Mary, in John 12, who takes her most expensive perfume and lovingly pours it on the feet of Jesus. The whole house was filled with that fragrance…
My it be so with my life…whether I’m in Tanzania, Nairobi, Texas, Kansas, or Ohio.
It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.
It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.
