Tuesday, June 23, 2009 Lodwar, Kenya, the Turkana desert
View pictures at: http://hopwoodcc.org/node/6227
“The Desert's Secrets” In the desert the most urgent thing is---to wait. The desert does not take kindly to those who tackle it at breakneck speed, subjecting it to their plans and deadlines. It soon takes its revenge and makes them pay dearly for their presumption. Instead, the desert welcomes those who shed their sandals of speed and walk slowly in their bare feet, letting them be caressed and burnt by the sand. If you have no ambition to conquer the desert, if you do not think you are in charge, if you can calmly wait for things to be done, then the desert will not consider you an intruder and will reveal its secrets to you. Meditations on the Sand by Alessandro Pronzato These words ring true for all I am learning about the desert. Namibia was a perfect setting in which to slow down, rest, and let the desert (or the God of the desert) take me in at its own pace, for its own purposes. After the first day I took off my watch and didn’t put it back on until the day we left Namibia for Kenya. Although waiting patiently with open eyes and ears is the way of wisdom in the desert, some days go way better than others. Some days are a wild mix of the sweetest unexpected joys and the most insane all-out sprints. Take yesterday, for instance. On Sunday, the boys and Kristin and I enjoyed a sweet reunion on the manicured grounds of the Mennonite guest house in Nairobi. Tyler remarked how good it was to be back, but noted a certain sadness that their old friends were no longer around to share the moment. So yesterday we got up for breakfast and who should we find sitting at our table fresh from furlough in California but our old friends and neighbors in Maasai land, Byron and Lisa Borden, along with their two youngest. They had just arrive in transit to their home in Tanzania. Joy swept over me and I couldn’t hold the tears as we laughed and hugged. I planted a big smooch on each of their foreheads, then we caught up like long-lost family members do. We planned to visit all through the day. Then the craziness began. I thought I was due to catch the bush plane to Turkana the following morning, but discovered to my panicked chagrin (at 9:10) that I was scheduled to be on the plane that very morning at 10 AM. On the other side of town. I grabbed Tyler, threw a few things into a backpack, stuck money and a passport in my pocket and we were out the door headed for the airfield. As I dodged errant buses, trucks, taxis and pedestrians I dumped everything that needed to be done into Tyler’s lap. I had very little confidence that I could make the flight, but had to make the attempt. We careened around Nairobi’s stop-and-go traffic snarls in a frantic attempt to catch the puddle jumper. We made it to the airport with only minutes to spare. We drove to the first missionary flight operation, only to discover the plane was not there. I hopped back into the car and we went to the main terminal, where I was sent back to the first location to get a real ticket. Another frantic roundtrip (three flights up, three flights down) gave me the bad news that AIM-AIR had no flight to Lodwar scheduled, and the clock now slipped past ten. On my second trip to the terminal, an airport worker suggested the possibility that I was supposed to fly with a different missions aviation group (MAF) in still another hanger, so off we ran to find them. Tyler stayed in the car while I puffed up two more flights of stairs and gasped out an inquiry about whether the plane to Lodwar had already left. It was 10:15. “That flight has been delayed until 11:00,” said the receptionist, “And yes, you are booked on that flight.” I wanted reach across the desk and give her a hug. I’m too old to run through airports. I was exhausted by the physical and emotional turns of the morning, but thankful that I would be able to keep my commitment to the Turkana team. I paid for the ticket, changed clothes in the washroom and tried to prepare for the flight. The two-hour journey through turbulent summer air was more than a little bumpy a small Cessna 210. I worried that I didn’t have everything I needed; I fretted about leaving Tyler holding all the loose ends—driving alone in Nairobi’s crazy left-hand traffic, packing up the room, connecting with the boys. Then we passed over the rugged Marich Pass and before us stretched the desert’s dusty face. We dropped back into the desert, and the world slipped back into a familiar pace. Things happened when they happened. It all worked out fine in the end. The course I’m teaching on Acts is successfully underway. I’ve enjoyed visits with old friends Gene and Melba Morden and Lynn Pottenger. I have everything I need. And Tyler…what can I say about that young man? He navigated the streets, made connections, packed the room, paid the bill, shopped for what we needed, and took care of everything in my absence. He’s been the perfect traveling companion. He is with his brothers for the next couple days working with urban poor. He’s a fine young man who gets things done with skill, persistence, creative problem solving, and liberal doses of humor and faith. What a day it was, and at the end there was grace and goodness and peace. I hope to carry those desert gifts with me to Maasai land. Blessings on you all, Tim P.S. Marcia and Jill made it in fine and we’ve enjoyed grand reunions. We leave tomorrow for Maasai country. The car will be packed like the “Beverly Hillbillies.” We’ll be out of touch for a few weeks, coming back into town on July 19.
