Standing with paint brush in one hand, and a steaming hot Coke in the other.  Sweat was dripping out of every pore in my body.  I seriously thought that death was imminent.  It was at least 105 degrees and I’d decided to spend the day helping the missionary, Katie Sasser, paint the gate of the compound.  So as of this moment in time, there are a few wrong things happening.  Let’s start with the fact that I don’t paint.  I have zero painting skills, and about the same amount of patience.  Wrong thing number two:  the decision to wear scrubs, thinking that they would “breathe better.”  Not so much.  Have you ever worn scrubs while painting in Kenya?  It can be described in the lovely words of Jim Gaffigan:  

“It feels like you’re standing in line at the DMV on the face of the sun.”

Thanks for that image, Jim.

The third wrong thing happening is my choice of music. Katie and I rocked some Herbie Hancock, Tears for Fears, and maybe even a little George Michael.  We were straight cheesing when it came to my shuffled Spotify playlist.  It wouldn't even have been so bad if it wasn't for the flock of children who gathered around us.  Tiny African girls dancing to Carless Whisper.  It was a sight to be seen.  

But in reality, it was also a good time for thinking.

Sometimes serving isn’t sexy.  Sometimes it goes completely unnoticed.  Like the little kid says in Bed Time Stories, we feel “underdemiciated.”

Sometimes serving isn't glamorous.  Sometimes it doesn't look cool on Instagram.  However, serving in the moments where the spotlights are off, and the cameras have quit rolling . . . those are the times when our character builds.  Those are moments where the real growth happens.  My dear friend Krystiana and I always discuss what we call the Tween moments. And I am not talking about a youth group for 11 and 12 year olds. It’s the moments of in-between that make up so much of serving the Creator. The moments when you feel like you're not making a huge impact.  The moments when you second-guess both your motives and your outcomes.  The tough nitty-gritty moments of serving.  

I was having a tweener moment while painting. 

“Really? Here I am in Africa, surrounded by all of this need and despair, and I’m painting a gate.”

And to be frank, the gate wasn't even looking that stellar.

But in that in-between moment, I felt like I was being told to embrace the moment.  Embrace the times where you don't feel yourself grow.  Embrace the times where it is tough to see the big picture of what we are doing.  Embrace the non-sexy serving.  Embrace the moment that is now.  

Be present in His presence.

Whether you're conquering the world or painting a gate.  Live life here.  

So I guess that’s what I did.  I turned on some Twenty One Pilots (my comfort music)  and I let the moment be the moment.  Because when I look back in ten years on my first Africa trip, the memory of standing with arms covered in Dutch Blue paint, jamming to Lane Boy with a schoolyard full of kids, will still be fresh in my mind.

It’s hot, sticky, uncomfortable, at times unbearable, and it’s hot.  

Did I mention the heat? 

I have officially begun village living here in Kenya.  Msambweni has become my part time home for the next few months.  It is vastly different from the society and culture that I come from.  That doesn't make it bad in any way. It's just very very different.  And it’s hot.  

The village I am staying in seems almost magical.  Like it’s straight out of the Lion King 5.  It’s a community of beautiful people.  Knit together in friendships like I have never seen.  Yes, there is poverty, and yes it totally affects these peoples live. But this village is full of joy.  A happiness and an aura of contentment resides in this village.  The people have smiles that could collectively light up Times Square.  Everywhere you go, there's a friendly greeting and conversation awaiting you.  Yes, I guarantee, it’s not perfect and it’s not actually magical. Nowhere is. But taking this place at face value has shown me that maybe back home we don’t do community and friendships well.

Once a week, I get to remove myself from village life and spend some time with the American missionaries that are here in this area.  It’s been a great time to reflect and recoup and recover.  I have time to think about what I’ve seen and what to do about it.  So that’s what I am currently doing.  Sitting on a beach with my MacBook listening to Zac Brown and Dave Grohl on Spotify.  Worlds removed from village life.  

But just because I’m not actively participating in village life doesn’t mean village life isn’t actively participating in my mind.  I come from a neighborhood where I thought we did community decently.  Yes, people still close the garage doors as soon as they get home.  Yes, we keep the blinds and doors closed.  But we do throw out a hello to every third person we see, so that counts.  

Doesn’t it?

I come from a place where I thought the church did community well.  We are cordial on Sundays and go to local restaurants afterwards.  But now I've been thrust into a world that does everything differently.  Neighbors here are friends.  Intimate friends.  They depend upon each other for company, for life necessities, and to keep each other going.  The church here is a collection of people knit together because of their common goal.  They depend upon each other for the survival of each person and the church as a whole. They love each other well, and it shows.  Big time.  

So it has me thinking.  How do we change our cold stiffness?  

I think it comes down to letting true joy enter our lives and flow out of our bodies.  To really let light shine through us.  It doesn’t mean we won't have our issues and our struggles.  But it means that, even through those, we learn to lean into one another to help us through. If my home neighborhood was as tight knit as the people here, it would change the landscape drastically.  It would change our expressions of Church in ways that we can’t even fathom--and people would recognize that and be drawn to it.  The same way I am drawn to this small village.

So those are my shower thoughts.  They may just be Red Bull induced, or influenced by Zac Brown’s Bonnaroo rendition of Devil went Down to Georgia.  But I believe they're accurate, and I also believe I have much to learn from the people of Msambweni. I believe they, and the time here, can change me from the inside out. 

Even if it is really really hot.

I stood confused, like a high school freshman on the first day of school, searching gate B-3 to find a seat. Any seat.  Finally finding one, I plopped down right there in front of the trash can and claimed it as my turf.  To be honest, no one was going to fight me over my spot, it was quite stinky.

      This was the second time this week that I found myself in a less than confident situation involving sitting.  I was in my friends garage in Brentwood, Tennessee.  My mission was to simply run to Walmart for a Red Bull and some supplies.  But my friend drives a 2012 BMW.  It’s basically equivalent to a space ship.  I sat in the dark of the garage for about twenty minutes attempting to start the dang car.  I couldn’t do it.  Key was in, buttons were pushed, and absolutely nothing was happening.  Finally, I FaceTimed my friend to have him explain it too me, which took a while seeing as he was dying laughing.  I was pretty embarrassed, and the issue wasn't even that big of a deal.

These two scenarios had me thinking, “If I can’t handle finding a seat at the airport gate, or starting a car, how in the world am I going to handle living in Kenya for two months?”

To be honest, on my own, I stand zero chance.   But by the grace of the Creator that I believe in, I can absolutely survive anything.  Anything that comes my way is minuscule compared to the things God can handle.  God's abilities utterly dwarf my own.   I can’t even fathom the way that he’s in control right now.

My adventure has begun.  And with it has come the  realization that God’s sovereign hand has always been on me, and always will.  I don’t have to worry about stupid scenarios like finding a seat or starting a luxury sedan.  He has the whole big picture taken care of.

“It’s so quiet.”
“It’s the deep breath before the plunge.”
Yet another Oscar worthy quote from J.R.R Tolkien and Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings series. This scene, this visualization, has become near and dear to my heart over the last few days. In this moment, a battle is about to ensue and everyone with any sort of brain knows it. But in the moments leading up to the struggles and challenges, the fighting and conquering, all is still.

All is quiet.

My life leading up to this moment has mostly been just that, quiet.  I have had my fair share of ups and downs, hills and valleys. But overall, for the most part, my participation in life has been quiet.

But now here I am, days away from moving to the other side of the world, moments from leaving behind every bit of comfort that I have, and I know that the plunge is coming.

And I cannot wait! 

The adventure has been ongoing since I was a kid. It’s inception came from my parental units.  It has always been the plan that when we kids graduate high school, we go somewhere across the globe and serve for a semester. So that's what I am doing.

I’m off.

Headed to the seemingly mythical land of Kenya. Headed into the absolute unknown, with the only Absolute watching my every step.  I am journeying to Mombassa in the hopes of finding clarity in Christ. Sure, it sounds crazy, and it probably is. But it’s my crazy. 

Jumping back into our Tolkien story, Pippin says these words.

“I don't want to be in a battle, but waiting on the edge of one I can’t escape, is even worse.”

I can’t, I won't, escape the coming battles and that’s why my nerves seem to be a bit unsettled. But I’ve decided to hold steadfast in the truth---that the battle I'm fighting has already been won. The challenges I will face living in Mombassa have already been conquered. I can rest easy knowing that the outcome, no matter the circumstances, will never ever change. So that’s why I am leaving my state. That's why I am leaving my home, my family, my friends. Because even though I feel the deep breath before the plunge, I know Who is catching me when I jump. What faces me next is unknown. But what is known, is what is to come.

The chance to watch and see God’s hand move in my life, and the lives of all those that I will meet in Kenya. 

There are many more adventures and stories that lie ahead. Thank you for being a part of My Ongoing Inception.