On Community: part one.

What was it like to bring friends from Oregon 'home' to Kenya?

Wonderful. Difficult. Exciting. Exhausting. Scary. Relieving. Trying. Challenging. Ridiculously fun.

I laughed a lot harder, and a lot more often, then I have in ages. I learned a lot: about myself, about others, about my shortcomings and my strengths, and about making chocolate chip cookies under pressure. I learned that most people have a better sense of direction than I do, and I learned that Keith cannot multi-task. I learned that there is no puppy guarding in hide and seek.

Several friends have come to visit me in Kenya before, but this was our first official 'team', and it was the first time I had the privilege of traveling to Kenya with people. I have come to accept the fact that I may never be able to articulate how wonderful it is to not have to drag my every everything into the bathroom in the airport. I confirmed how nice it is to have friends to talk to on the plane, and friends to sleep on. And we discovered that I get really, really shrill when we are landing in Nairobi.

I mentioned before that the six of us stayed in two apartments, four Americans in one, and two of us sharing Susan and Wilson's apartment. Because their kitchen is fully furnished, we prepared and ate our meals in Susan and Wilson's house. As you can imagine (and here the introverts shudder and the extroverts beam in approval) it was pretty crowded. Pretty real. Pretty communal, if you will. I personally loved it, as I always love an opportunity to pretend I am living with friends. Everyone did really, really well. Considering that eight of us were sharing one computer, one kitchen, two bathrooms and four bedrooms, it's pretty miraculous that we are all still friends- oh, but this is an exceptional group of incredibly gracious people. So there you go.

There were mornings when I felt like my life was perfect: Keith washing dishes. Linds making beds. Susan singing in the shower. Pete making eggs, or coffee. Ang on the computer. Muso poking her little head into the living room to ask if Auntie Lindsay had learned Kikuyu yet. Wilson ironing his, my or Susan's clothes. I'm not SO great at mentally preparing for a whole day, remembering everything I need to take with me, and getting dressed, especially when I'm exhausted and distracted, and there were days when I barely made it out the door- but there were, as I said, moments when I felt that everything was exactly, wonderfully perfect.

Because I love people. I love being around people. I love feeling loved. And I have wanted, for some time now, to live with friends in Kenya.

I spent some time with some good friends in Haiti last year. We stayed in a children's home, and there was a community room we spent a lot of time in. This provided me with glimpses of my 'dream life': someone on this couch, reading, and someone else on that couch, talking. I would be sewing or knitting or playing with my camera, and some of us would be washing dishes, and others would be learning Creole. Living life, together: that's what I want, so much.

So this, again, felt like a glimpse, like a fleeting moment that I wanted to capture and bring back with me. Those were the perfect mornings.

And then there were mornings where everything was awful, and disastrous, and I felt like I wasn't going to make it. Oh yeah, did I mention I can be difficult to live with? And that people like their space? And that they had jet lag and culture shock, and I wanted things to go my way, most (okay all) of the time, and that when I get stressed and overwhelmed, I don't communicate well?

I didn't mention that? Weird.

But again: people. Gracious, loving, grown up people, people who care for one another and who choose, morning after merciful morning, to follow Jesus.

So I mean, things weren't perfect, or magical, but after all, I did make chocolate chip cookies, so it probably could have been worse.