I'm skipping summer this year. I made the transition from the Western Hemisphere to south of the equator and we are now teetering on the cusp of winter. The nights and mornings are cool, the air cut through with the smoky scent of Kenya, and I find myself reaching again for thicker socks and another sweater. Strange, but not unwelcome.
I am nearly two weeks in (but it feels like three years), and things are getting easier every day. Great is thy faithfulness. I've settled into a routine and the days are long, but the work is fulfilling, and I am beginning to be in a place where I am able to take in the wonder of this country without a constant veil of tears. The first week was hard, so much harder than I though it'd be. I didn't know it was possible to cry that much, and I'm not going to lie, I questioned my sanity in coming here. I was warned about the intensity of my emotions, and I thought I was prepared, but I was still knocked off my feet. But this too shall pass and the rawness has begun to ebb and for that I am grateful. Perhaps it will hit me later -- I don't know, I'm so new at all this -- but I was surprised at my lack of culture shock. Kenya is very unlike home, but it feels normal, this season, this environment, this life right now. I'm not sure how to put it into words, but though it is not easy being here, there is an indescribable transcending peace. Morning by morning new mercies I see.
There is a framed world map displayed on a living room wall at the Trump's house and I find myself studying it several times a day. I trace the distance from Oklahoma to Kenya, from Germany to Kenya and it seems impossibly far. Halfway around the world. And I wonder: how is this happening to me?