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.