With just three days left in Kenya, it’s hard to feel like I have a dwelling place right now, physically and relationally. Not only do we dwell some WHERE, we also dwell in community WITH others. And, when these are both swiftly and suddenly swept up from under you in a matter of days, it’s scary.
My house is empty and echoey. My shelves are empty. The walls are bare. 5 of my bags left today to go home to the States with a family who had extra baggage allowance, and are graciously going to UPS those for me to MD from Chicago this week. My fridge is down to random condiments, jellies, and a few staples. And, what has been home for an entire year, is now becoming another young dorm mom’s home next month. She has already arrived, so her luggage is in my guest bedroom now, and I’ve been surprised at how “protective” I’ve begun to feel about losing ‘my’ little corner in this RVA world.
And, while “KUE” is just a physical place, with walls and doors and cabinets and keys, there is a real sense of loss in leaving it. It has been my first ‘home on my own,’ and I will miss its cozy corners and cheery yellow paint and my serene “Devonshire” blue-grey painted bedroom. I will miss my kitchen sink drain that randomly ‘pees’ water…I will miss the creaks of my front door, the noisy wind of the night…the bamboo floors, my back patio, my very old-fashioned telephone 🙂 I will miss the view of the mountains, watching people pass by my kitchen window, hearing the monkeys on the roof in the mornings…I will miss making fires in my fireplace, and yes, I will even miss my annoying rental refrigerator that had no side shelving all year, that I solved by extending duct tape from one side to the other to create pseudo-shelving!
I also said goodbye to some very dear friends this afternoon. People I have lived in community with for 12 months…people who have become family…people who have become my dearest companions and surrogate parents…people with whom I have truly lived LIFE. It was hard to hug them at the parking lot, not knowing when I’ll see them again in this life, if ever. There is something so incredible, though, about the power of eternal life. Thinking about seeing these people again one day in heaven is such a wonderful, comforting truth.
And, so, I don’t think it was a coincidence that the Lord put Psalm 23 on my heart this morning. Particularly, the last verse: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall DWELL in the house of the LORD forever.”
Dwelling. Jesus Christ is my Savior, and He has given me the gift of His Holy Spirit. And the Word says that the Holy Spirit lives inside of us, interceding for us at the throne of God. He dwells in me, as a person dwells in a home. And, as I make this transition from Africa back to the States, I am grateful that He is my abiding place ALL the days of my life.
I must admit, though. I am nervous about how peaceful this dwelling has been in comparison with what is coming my way in the States. Here, time is relationships. There, time is money. Now, I generalize when I say this. But, it is in many ways true. Marcus Hornuck developed an Antithesis for Psalm 23, which I find so incredibly interesting:
“The clock is my dictator, I shall not rest. It makes me lie down only when exhausted. It leads me to deep depression. It hounds my soul. It leads me in circles of frenzy for activities’ sake. Even though I run frantically from task to task, I will never get it all done, for my “ideal” is with me.
Deadlines and my need for approval they drive me. They demand my performance from me, beyond the limits of my schedule. They anoint my head with migraines and restlessness. My in-basket overflows.
Surely fatigue and time pressures shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the bonds of frustration forever.”
I’m so thankful for this fresh perspective as I make my way back. Unless we DWELL in the presence of the Lord (instead of in the continual presence of our to-do list, fears, concerns, worries, tasks, etc.), we will be in the bonds of frustration. But, if we choose to continually REST by streams of water and green pastures, we will find peace.
It’s rather ironic. I met this man on Sunday. Amanda and Jenny and I went down to visit some friends, and spent the day enjoying a three-hour church service, lunch, pictures, and fellowship with the community.
He is an old, Maasai warrior…I never even caught his name while I was there…he is the father of a son who works as a guard at RVA…a grandfather to many. He dwells in the dusty, dry plains of the Rift Valley. It is certainly not a land of flowing water and green pastures, but drought, despair, and poverty.
Yet, somehow, in this despondent dwelling, he is smiling. As we were saying goodbye, he put his hand on my shoulder, as pictured. He looked at me, and in that moment, my heart skipped a beat and a tear came to my eye. No words were spoken, but the love of Jesus spilled over from his soul to mine, and in his eyes, I saw an eternal light shining that made me catch my breath. His wrinkles, decaying teeth, skinny bones…they were just part of the flesh in which he was living. I knew where he was truly dwelling, even in the flesh. He was dwelling in Jesus. And, perhaps, in that moment, I saw what Paul really meant when he said in 2 Cor 4:
“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self [3] is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. 17 For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 18 as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”
Readers, supporters, friends, family…dwell in Jesus today and forever.