I cannot predict the future, but I know one thing for certain. This last week in Kenya will be hard.
I’m not one to make many emotional attachments, but yesterday as I chatted with a friend in between saying goodbyes at a ministry location it hit me. I’m going to miss this place and these people. Not in the way we say “see you, miss you, bye!” But a heart-wrenching, sob for days, never want to forget kind of missing. And the grieving process begins now as we say our goodbyes during our final days of ministry.
As I choked back tears yesterday, the one comfort that came to mind was the fact that I have photos to take home with me. Every memory and experience documented, available to be catalogued and reflected on whenever I long to remember and miss my second home. Or so I thought. Then last night when I went to review the day’s snapshots I found my entire memory card erased.1,000 photos gone. 7 weeks of pictures, all but 2 days worth mysteriously deleted. As you can imagine, I was devastated. I cried for most of the evening, prayed all through the night for God to restore them and cried some this morning too.
On this trip we’ve discussed frequently getting out of our comfort zones, losing everything to find Jesus, only living out of necessity and shedding our American sense of entitlement. We made lists of things most important to us and imagined them all being stripped away. I felt sincerely that I do not treasure much in this world. Well God challenged that. I treasured those photos more than anything I have with me and most of what I have at home. I wish I could tell you I’ve let go, that it doesn’t bother me or that I’ve learned an invaluable lesson that I wouldn’t trade for my pictures. The truth is I would give just about anything to have even some of those photos back- the shirt on my back, my Bible, my ipod or even the actual camera. The memories are what I fear to lose and I hope and pray that they won’t be lost with the pictures. What I have learned is that even the intangible earthly things are like vapor, here and gone, we cannot count on them and we should not treasure them. On this trip I’ve gotten a lot of praise for my photography, maybe I got proud (I’m still seeking the Lord on that.) There were many artistic photos of inanimate objects, landscapes and portraits of my team. But what I will miss most and grieve the loss of even now is the Kenyans I have met. My African grandmother Coco, Peter my translator, and his brother Simon who we led back to the Lord, Margaret Jr. who reminds me of my sister and countless children who have warmed and captured my heart.
And so the grieving begins. To those of you reading this who don’t know me well, I am a generally happy person. When not joyful, then at least content. But in the coming weeks I ask for your prayer, support and understanding as I release a country and a people that have embraced me, taught me, and changed me.
Kenya will stick with me forever.
