It’s really not my intention to neglect you, my
readers. I find the longer I’m here
everything appears “normal”. I don’t
find inspiration in the unusual anymore, so I’m trying to find material in the “mundane”
and hoping it seems peculiar to you.
In the afternoons, the kids who are too young to attend
preschool take naps. Around 3pm they
start to awaken. Think Zombie Apocalypse
meets miniature Kenyan. Some
kids wake up on their own, but others are summoned from the dead by the aunties
(care takers). Regardless, they stumble
through the metal door, tottering to keep their balance with arms thrust in front, and many sob
uncontrollably. The aunties then line
them up and sit them down for some life-giving beverage (brains perhaps?) and then usher them
outside to divide and wreak havoc upon the compound. While they may not be shouting “Brains”, the
Kiswahili they roar is just as scary.
Another phenomenon (well, maybe to you) is the Kenyan
Word-of-Mouth network. This is like a
large scale version of the game “Telephone” but more accurate. I’ll be wheeling one of the contraptions I
strap Wanjiku in, and one kid will ask, “What’s that for?” I explain "it’s Wanjiku’s car," and
continue travelling towards the Baby House.
A few moments later, a herd of snot-lockers from the opposite direction runs by yelling, “Jiko’s
car! Jiko’s car!” I don't know if they use telepathy, smoke signals, or carrier-pigeons, but they ALL KNOW! Another example is my name. I swear I only told a few kids my name, but
now wherever I go, kids yell, “KARI!” at the top of their lungs. I have no idea who most of the kids are, but
they know me!
On a completely different note, I’ve been reading the book
of Judges (highly entertaining if you’re looking for bizarre tales). I’ve reached the story of Gideon (chapter 7),
and I’m chewing on verses 17 and 18:
[after the angel of the Lord chats with Gideon] “Gideon replied, ‘If now
I have found favor in your eyes, give me a sign that it is really you talking
to me. Please do not go away until I
come back and bring my offering and set it before you.’ And the Lord said, ‘I will wait until you
return’” (NIV, emphasis mine). Many worship songs
declare, “I will wait upon the Lord”, but it’s not so often that I hear the Lord
say, “I will wait upon you.” The
picture that this passage paints mesmerizes me.
It’s not like God doesn’t have anything better to do—He has a world to
run, His creations to take care of, and His way-ward people to chase down, but
the Lord chooses to wait. I’m sure it
takes Gideon a while to prepare the goat and unleavened bread, and God waits
patiently under the oak tree. I don’t
picture this as someone sitting under a tree twiddling his thumbs, but rather
someone resting in the shade and in no hurry to move. Sometimes I wish I was gifted in painting or
drawing so I could depict the scenes in my brain… words fail me so often. When I’m waiting on God, I feel like I have a
bazillion projects and tasks to accomplish, when really I don’t have anything
better to do other than wait—yet that’s the last thing I want to do. I usually don’t choose to wait on God; rather God strips away my other options to make me dependent upon Him. This isn’t a forced option—I still have free
will to choose, but rather God takes away other options that seem good and
leaves me with two options: chase my tail like a dog or rely and wait on God—the latter is
clearly the superior option. So instead
of resting under an oak tree, just enjoying where I’m at while God works on
whatever it is He’s working on, I’m fidgeting and twiddling my thumbs and
pacing back and forth. I think God
allows me to work myself into a tizzy so that I have to rest out of pure
exhaustion. Then, after He’s deemed I’ve
rested enough, He gives me the plan.
I think I need to go take a nap under a tree.
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