kenya: genesis

Hello...again. I've been thinking (always a good sign, right?) about how I want to recount my stories from Kenya. I do not think I'll take you through it day-by-day like my brother did, unless I change my mind...I'll proceed in a retrospective, chronological fashion, and I will share as much as I can, but to be perfectly frank, there are memories of Kenya that can only really ever belong to me and God. Not to be exclusive or anything.

But, I my musings are running amok again--you are probably wondering when I'll actually start. So let me begin by anchoring my narrative in some facts--

I went to Kenya this past summer for seven weeks through InterVarsity (IV) Christian Fellowship, a national and international organization for college students. I have been a part of the IV on UC Berkeley's campus since I was a freshman, and IV offers many global missions opportunities for its students--one of which is the Kenya Global Project (GP). The Kenya GP isn't mainly concerned with sending out a team of young American university students to convert people and "save souls" for Jesus, though that is a part of it. The GP and the "mission" that I and my teammates embarked on was to truly learn what it means to love God's people, and not in a paternalistic, top-down, Bible-thumping way.

Now, shall I start from the beginning--the very beginning? How did I wind up in Kenya? The first inklings of Kenya began during a very trying time in my life: high school. At some point during those arduous years, my mind latched onto Kenya, and whenever someone spoke of overseas missions, my mind would leap to Kenya. It didn't make sense, and maybe it was some residual vestiges of puberty or something. Either way, it was Kenya. Kenya Kenya Kenya. (And there are a coupla pictures of me in high school, just for kicks. It was a hard time. I don't know what I was doing. I'll leave it at that).

I grew up in the church, and part of church culture (or at least the one I grew up in) is missions. So I knew that at some point I wanted to go overseas for missions, but it was a vague inclination, and I figured I would go later on in life, perhaps my late twenties or something. But it did not actually seem a real possibility until my brother announced in January of 2010 that he had decided to go with InterVarsity to Kenya (yes, the same one I went on). That was when things began to be set in motion. Myron went and came back, carrying with him a baggage of spiritual encounters, hopes, transformations, memories, and--none of the banana leaf woven giraffes I had requested.

That was when God prodded me and said, "It's time." I didn't put up much of a fight--I agreed to it, but I was still unsettled with questions. I prayed for peace to know this was right. I prayed for faith to trust that giving up a summer of resume-padding and internship-doing would not cause my future any permanent harm.  I prayed for conviction and He convicted me. I was held accountable to that conviction, to my answered prayers. Now, I don't know how "religious" or "spiritual" you count yourself, and I know that word "conviction" has a lot of discomfiting connotations. But this conviction I'm talking about comes with absolute freedom--to set a course in your heart and life with God, to be free knowing this is right and that all else will follow accordingly.

Sometimes, you just know, you know? My mind had been weirdly fixated on Kenya for years, and now my heart was too. Getting the two to align can be a bit problematic--so when it actually happens...well.

I knew I had to go to Kenya. And that was that.

There were logistics, of course. Money to be fundraised. People to be told. Tickets to be booked. My own spirits to reassure.

But what matters is that on the morning of June 3, 2011 I was standing in LAX, about to make the first of my leg journey to New York to meet up with the rest of my team.

And you know what? I missed my flight.