It's physics, Madam.

Esther: "Madam, in physics we learned that the color white reflects light and the color black absorbs light. So that means that your skin reflects light."

Me: [takes of shoe to show the world's worst Chaco tan - seriously - and rolls up sleeve to show hilarious, ridiculous farmer's tan] "No, Esther. My skin absorbs light. Just like yours. See?"

Esther: "But Madam. It's Physics!"

The Rendille are an incredibly proud people. They walk with their backs straight and their heads held high. They also believe they are ALWAYS right - even when they aren't. Esther really, really believed that my white skin reflects the sun.

[Duh, Madam. It's physics.]

I've never read Twilight, but I saw/was forced to see New Moon in theaters in Nairobi last December. You know the scene where what's-her-face - Bella? - goes to tackle Edward from exposing his sparkly skin to the world, which would apparently kill him if he actually does it? And how is skin makes rainbows all around him because it reflects so much sunlight?

That's what I think of when Esther tells me my skin reflects sunlight.

AWESOME.

That means my students think I'm a vampire.

I can't bow low enough...

There's this song by Phil Wickham called "Cielo" - if you've never heard it before I highly suggest that you download it.

Here are the lyrics:

I'm walking through the bright white gates

breathing in and out your grace

all around me melodies rise

that echo with the joy inside

so I start to sing

but I cant sing loud enough

I can't sing loud enough

when I'm singing for You my God

I can't sing loud enough

I can't sing loud enough

when I'm singing for You my God

with a thunder roll and a brilliant light

your glory boasts and the heavens shine

the saints and angels stand in awe

captured by the beauty of it all

so I fall to my knees

but I can't bow low enough

I can't bow low enough

at the vision of You my God

I can't bow low enough

I can't bow low enough

at the vision of You my God

I can't hold it all inside

I'm reaching for the One who brought me out of death and into life

but I can't lift my hands high enough

life my hands high enough

when I'm reaching for You my God

I can't lift my hands high enough

life my hands high enough

when I'm reaching for You my God

oh I'm reaching for You my God

I'm reaching for You

I'm reaching for You

I'm reaching for You my God

This song has been on repeat on my ipod for the last few days.

I can't believe I'm leaving Korr. I'm in straight up denial about it - the thought of never seeing so many people here again makes me want to cry. No...scratch that. I already have cried quite a few times - and I've barely begun saying my goodbyes.

But at the same time, my God is so, so good. He has given me a perfect peace about leaving - I am fully confident that my impending departure is as He's always planned it would be. I haven't always been able to see that, but the Lord is so faithful to provide everything in His own perfect timing.

I could never worship the Lord enough for what He has done in the past 7 months. Never. I could never bow low enough, sing loud enough, or lift my hands high enough to express it. It's just not possible. Yes, He has dragged me through fire on about a million (that's a rough estimate) different levels. Yes, it has not always been easy. But above all else, HE is good. He is worthy of ALL the honor and ALL of the praise. Because I would not be here today without His never-ending love and grace.

He has loved, rebuked, moved, revealed, blessed, and disciplined me. He has removed so much of my pride - pride in my own abilities, pride in my plans, pride in the control I laughingly assume I have over my own life. He's still working on replacing it all with Him. He's created in me a desire to know Him more...more than I ever thought possible.

If you ask any Rendille which is worse: hunger or thirst, they will ALWAYS say thirst. The Rendille are so thirsty for Christ in their lives. Some don't even realize what they're thirsting for is Jesus. But He is moving here and revealing Himself in more ways than anybody dreamed possible.

I want to be thirsty for Christ like that. I want to need Him like I need water. For mere survival. You won't get far out here in the desert without water. And I pray that as I am returning to a nation with more abundance than this world has ever known that I won't forget this valuable lesson learned out here in the desert.

My soul finds rest in God alone;

my salvation comes from him.

He alone is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.

[Psalm 62:1-2]

Musings of a nomad

I cannot believe that in just 10 days I will be hopping on a plane and leaving Korr for good.

There are days where I think that I could do this forever - days where, even if I've been sweating since 6 AM and I'm eating mutton for the fifth time that week, that I am reminded of just how blessed and lucky I am to be here. My students...I will never, ever have a class as special, as hardworking, or as inspiring as them again. Ever. I feel like I'm finally, after six months, beginning to really get somewhere in relationships with them. That I'm finally settling in and getting comfortable with my surroundings and acclimating to the desert heat. That maybe, just maybe, my knowledge of Rendille is finally reaching a point where people don't laugh at me when I try to talk to them. Days where my heart feels so full from living here that it could burst.

I have family here. I have friends here - friends I dearly love and admire. Friends that inspire me to pursue Jesus more passionately and more faithfully. Family like my Rendille mama that invites us over for Sunday dinner and cooks us fried chicken because she knows mzungus love chicken. I have friends here that don't speak the same heart language as me - but we share a passion and a love for Jesus, and that is all that really matters.

To the Rendille, I am not Jamie Bauknight. When they ask me, "ati ah goobah?" or "ako keyya?" (what clan are you?/ who is your family?) I respond with "Ani a Sibiiryan Labarakwe" - my given Rendille first name with my adoptive family's last name. The point has been reached where the sight of me walking through town to and from school doesn't make people do double-takes anymore. Where instead of children shouting "Mzungu!" at me, they shout "Sibiiryan!"

This has become my home. And with that, I think, "this is where I belong."

But then I have these moments where the Lord reminds me that I don't actually belong here. Moments where, as I'm sitting in a classroom proctoring a midterm exam, I look around at all of my students and think to myself, "oh, right. They're AFRICANS." Moments where I am reminded that I am one of six Westerners living among these 20,000+ Rendille. Times when cross-cultural clashes happen and I want to bang my head against a wall in frustration. Days where, as I'm walking through the desert heat in the afternoons to go back and teach my afternoon class, I understand all too well why God didn't put light-skinned people to live in the desert along the equator.

In a sense, I don't belong here.

Yet God has placed me here...with His purpose and in His perfect timing. He also never said that following Him would be easy. "Denying myself to take up my cross and follow Him" doesn't breed feelings of relief or ease. There have been times where I've felt so out of my element it's comical. Days where I have literally felt like I'm being dragged across hot coals. He has changed me, stretched me, refined me, and then repeated the whole process over. Over, and over, and over again.

I'm not coming home the same person I was when I left. I may not belong here, but I certainly don't fully belong back in the culture I left either.

I've become something of a nomad. Just like the Rendille.

But here's the thing: none of us belong here. This world is not our home...it was never meant to be. The Gospel isn't comfortable: it's radical, life-altering, and involves a complete transformation of self. Because as you accept this gift of eternal life through Christ, you must completely die to your old self and old ways. It shouldn't be comfortable. Even after salvation. As Christians, we should never. be. comfortable. Because we are called to be lights in a dark world. As followers of Christ, we should be standing out because of the faith and hope that we proclaim....and that means being uncomfortable for the sake of the Gospel.

Christ never said it would be easy. But He does promise that our reward is to be sons and daughters of the Most High. As I'm preparing to leave one home to head back to another, it is a comfort to know that it's okay that I don't fully fit in anywhere this side of heaven.

May your unfailing love be my comfort,
according to your promise to your servant.

[Psalm 119:76]

We were made not primarily that we may love God (though we were made for that too) but that God may love us, that we may become objects in which the Divine love may rest "well-pleased." To ask that God's love should be content with us as we are is to ask that God should cease to be God: because He is what He is, His love must, in the nature of things, be impeded and repelled by certain stains in our present character, and because He already loves us He must labor to make us lovable.

[C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain]

Reign down on us.

I remember having a conversation with Kakume, our principal, last September about what happens in Korr after the rainy season.

"Korr is so much green!" he told me. "Everything, it all turns green. Korr becomes very beautiful after the rains."

To be honest, I didn't believe him. After all, this was what I saw every day:

Barren, rocky desert. Everything was dead or dying. We were in the middle of one of the worst droughts northern Kenya has seen in the past 20 years...and it wasn't just the plants that were dying. Hundreds of people showed up on Nick & Lynne's doorstep every morning, begging for a few shillings to buy tea leaves for chai...anything to fill an empty stomach. Many herds dwindled down from dozens of animals to a mere handful. The previous "long" rainy season had produced a mere 30 minute shower. Waking up to this sight every morning for the first 7 weeks we were in Korr did not exactly get me too excited about the upcoming "short" rainy season. "How green can it possibly get with just a few showers?" I thought. "What good will that honestly do?"

Boy, was I wrong.

About a week after it rained here, green stuff started to sprout up everywhere.

I mean, everywhere.

Where growth had been seemingly nonexistent before, sprouts were springing up. Life was beginning where it had once seemed impossible to exist. Plants and bushes that had once looked dead now had green leaves sprouting out all over the place. Even the thorn bushes turned a beautiful shade of green!

This picture was taken a week after it rained. It's the SAME shot as the one above it!

It is absolutely astounding what happens out here in the desert with 5 hours' worth of rain showers.

The Rendille are a proud people. They walk with their heads held high. They know what they believe. And they are always right - whether it be about religion or the color of the sky or cell phones - they are always, always right.

So when Nick & Lynne showed up 30 years ago and began to introduce the Gospel to a people who had previously never heard of Jesus Christ, you can guess what happened. They resisted. Their pride would simply not allow them to believe in such a thing. Elders and warriors would not even listen to the evangelists speak. It's been this way for 30 years.

Until now. There is a revival going on here in Korr. For the last few months, church has been full to the point of overflowing every Sunday. Evangelists are going out to the goobs and the elders are listening. Warriors are coming to know Christ...something that Nick, Lynne, and the few believers here have been praying for for THIRTY YEARS. People are standing on their doorstep and begging for literacy classes to come to their goobs. "Please!" they beg. "We want to learn! We have somebody here who says he will be our teacher...teach him and he will teach us!"

Life is being born - in a place where it once seemed impossible. This barren, rocky desert is seeing growth like it's never, ever seen before. Seeds that have lain dormant for years are now sprouting up for all to see. Seeds in a ground that seemed utterly impossible to foster growth are suddenly blossoming into beautiful green flowers and plants.

He is raining down here on these people in the desert. The Gospel is beginning to take root. Where there was once pride, there is humility. Where there was once utter barrenness, there is vibrant life peeking through. Where there was once hopelessness, there is Hope. Hope in a God who saves. Hope in a God who provides. Hope in a God who loves them so much he would humble himself to death on a cross.

Praise the Lord that He will reign here. Pray for hearts to continue to be changed. Pray for those seeds that have been planted. Pray for growth.

Pray for the Rendille.

Snapshots of a bush missionary

*SNAP*

As I collect donation money during Tirrim Secondary School's fundraiser, traditional Rendille church members hand me handfuls of change - literally, all of the money they have to their name - to help these nomadic children receive a better education.

*SNAP*

It's the evening, and I am sitting inside of a truck tire that is perched on top of a lorry. The teachers and students all around me are singing praises to our God as we drive underneath the starlit Kenyan night sky.

*SNAP*

One of my students: "Madam! When you arrived in Korr you did not have those red bumps on your face. Now, you have many?"

"Yes, Elias. Those 'red bumps' are called acne. It's because all I ever do here is sweat."

*SNAP*

I feel like a proud parent when one of my students, who historically has struggled in math class, finally grasps the concept we are learning about that day. "Madam! Another one!" the rest of my students enthusiastically shout - 'another one' meaning they want me to give them another math problem to work out in class. I will never have students this eager to learn or grateful for their education as my students are now, ever again.

*SNAP*

I watch as traditional Rendille women during church slide from their seats down to squat on the floor, where they are more comfortable. It's all they've ever known - squatting on the hard, dusty ground.

*SNAP*

It's 2:oo PM and I'm walking back to school to teach my lone afternoon class for the week. It's the hottest time of the day, and even the Rendille are doing their best to move as little as possible and stay in the shade. I get many funny looks as I truck it up to school through the heat of the afternoon.

*SNAP*

We all feel frustrated yet again with our struggles to communicate in Rendille to our night guard Essimbassele. He speaks no English, and we only understand limited Rendille. What we thought was a spider bite turns out to be just a bad bump from running his leg into our table.

*SNAP*

As I'm taking what my students call "singles" (pictures of them individually), their serious faces quickly turn into ridiculous, crazy poses that even Tyra Banks would be proud of.

*SNAP*

Walking home from school means I will be fist-bumping along the way a minimum of 25 kids' fists. It's taken 6 months, but they're finally calling me by my Rendille name ("Siberyan!") instead of the generic "Mzungu!" I am followed by choruses of "How are YOUUUU?" and "bye byeeee!" nearly everywhere I walk.

*SNAP*

Two of our students come over on their outing time and we offer them refrigerated water to drink. They struggle to drink it, making pained faces as they do, because the water is simply too cold for them to put in their mouth.

*SNAP*

It's a beautiful evening and we decide to walk to the top of White Hill, which is a hill right on the edge of Korr. A parade of Korr kids follows us to the top. One boy, Anitommo, grabs a hold of my hand with the biggest ear-to-ear grin I have ever seen. He absolutely refuses to let go of my hand for the rest of the evening - even going so far as to assault another little boy who tried to sneak his hand in while he wasn't looking.

*SNAP*

I'm teaching Bible class and I ask for a volunteer to read a few verses from Exodus. 3 of our Muslim students get their hands in the air faster than anything I've ever seen. My heart breaks for them - are they simply excited to read out loud in class or is God stirring their hearts to a more intimate knowledge of Him?

*SNAP*

We're sleeping out in the goobs - sleepover with Khasso? Doesn't get much better than that. As Nick reads from the book of Mark in Rendille, I lie back on the ground, stare up at the millions of twinkling stars, and am reminded of just how small I really am and how magnificent our God truly is. Goob kids surround me, trying to (not so) subtlety touch my skin and hair. Life here is so simple...just how it was intended to be.

*SNAP*

It's 30 minutes later and Claire and I sneak out of the goob to go, as the Kenyans say it, "take a short call." As I'm squatting in the pitch dark next to a bush, I hear a low guttural growl not 50 feet to my left. It sounds just like a hyena...and all that is racing through my mind is 'I'm going to die out in the bush mid-pee?' I fumble for my flashlight...it's just a sick Rendille dog. Praise. The. Lord.

*SNAP*

Sunday afternoon and we're sitting in Claire & Alicia's Rendille mama Nariyo's min, sipping chai and joking about marrying Alicia off to a warrior for a dowry of 8 camels. I tell Nariyo that I am leaving to go back home to America at the end of the term and that I don't know when I will see her again after that. "Do you love Jesus?" she asks. "Yes." "Well I love Jesus too, so we will always be together in our hearts." She then asks me to not forget the Rendille...to tell everyone in American about them and to be praying for them. "There are so few believers here...pray that God will move in their hearts. We still have so much work left to do."

"Do not forget us."

No, Nariyo. I will never forget the Rendille.

30 days.

30 days is all that I have left here in Korr. 30 days to take as many snapshots and make as many memories as possible...30 days left with 64 students who have managed to capture my heart in ways I never imagined possible. 30 days until I head down country and become a tourist for 3 weeks. 30 days until I have to worry about the "real world"...although I'm pretty sure that this is more "real" than anything else I'll ever experience.

Can I be so honest? I don't have a clue what I'm doing when I get home. I have my desires for what I want to do, yes...but only the Lord knows what to do with them. Right now, all I do know is I have 30 days here in Korr to be used as the Lord sees fit.

Right now, that is more than enough.