Things I Will Miss.

"You know how it is when you’re doing something you think is important, and you miss the thing that really is important. "

It's hard to believe that we are living our last month here in Arusha. There are days when it feels like we've just arrived; on other days, it seems as if we've lived here forever. Our lives in Minnesota often feel like distant memories. There is something to be said for keeping busy until the last minute...that maybe it keeps you from being sad. But we've been trying to savor the things we love most about Arusha. Painful though it is at times, I know that in the months to come we'll be glad we took the time now to reflect on our time here. Some of the things are simple and small. Others are more difficult to articulate now.

I will miss perma-summer. All my life I've lived a 4 season life and was sure that I'd prefer something different. I was right. The heat of the day (minus the humidity), the cool nights, the dry air...it was perfect. There's something about it that makes life feel slower, more relaxed, happier. The traditions of long "sundowners" before later dinners, grilling and eating outdoors, hot tea or coffee in the cool mornings, all make sense here.

I will miss the land. For all of Kilimanjaro's fame, I will keep Mt. Meru in my mind's eye forever, I think. It looms over the town--and the spetacular view almost every late afternoon is something I look forward to every day. I will miss the savannahs that stretch on as far as you can see...with the ancient volcanos watching like sentinels. There is less a sense of history here than there is sheer timelessness--the feeling that something has just simply been, not created by man, not a product of progress or development, but something that is much larger and older than I can possibly imagine.

I will miss the sound of my gardener singing as he works. He is Maasai and the other afternoon when I was laying in bed with allergies he was working below my window, humming a tune that sounded both foreign and familiar. I love the sight of a group of Maasai men standing a talking. More often than not, they will have their arms around each other's necks. A show of solidarity, a connection to a life that is fast changing. I love to see the women with their beaded ears and necks, and wrists. I used to think that they were dressing up for a trip to town until I visited a village and realized that it was just every day for them. Herds of goats and cattle, with a young boy or old man at the side, a skinny dog or two at the rear, donkeys carrying water containers driven by women. All are common sights, even within Arusha town, and I never get tired of seeing them. There's an element of life here that reminds me of what Montana was like. Wild, rugged, harsh, yet people here have a strength to survive, to endure.

I will miss ISM. It has been a gift to our children beyond words. Kristine, Lloyd, Diana, Kara, Samantha, Annette, Steve, and Madeleine have challenged, inspired, and loved our kids in ways that have allowed them to shine. They are the best that the teaching profession has to offer--they love learning, they love teaching, they love their students, and it shows in everything they do. Our children have met people who have lived everywhere and done everything imaginable. They know about careers that are definitely not on the lists of most career counselors at universities. They have watched people come and go and listened to adventures and stories from all over the world. They may decide at the end of the day that they want a house and a job and a family in a suburb somewhere. To that I would say, "God bless you." They may decide to choose a path that takes them on a journey similar to that of many of their friends' families. To that I would say the same. They have been given an amazing gift of exposure to lives and choices and events they couldn't imagine in their wildest dreams. Whatever they choose in life, they'll do so with the knowledge of so many things they could do. They can make choices knowing what the world can hold for them.

I will miss the flowers. On one side of town the dry landscape is a perfect backdrop for the violent pinks and purples and reds that bloom so effortlessly here. On the other side of town the vegetation seems almost claustrophobic, jungle-like, with the banana, palms, and vines. In both places, monkeys are still a curiosity and a joy to watch. I'm not a gardener, but here even I could have success with growing something!

The people that first came to Africa had to have been unbelievably strong and courageous. They came to a part of the world that was largely uknown and faced animals, diseases, and unfriendly locals. They brought with them a sense of comfort, however, in a rough land...that sense of tranquility and comfort that exists in the lodges and tented camps used by safaris. TGT offers a sense of that comfort, an oasis from the frustrations of life here and a chance to spend time with friends. We learned to love rugby here. We wiled away hot Saturday afternoons with gin and tonics and a plate of samosas. We played baseball and attracted spectators who didn't understand our funny bats and balls. It was one place where people from all walks of life--Tanzanians, Indians, safari owners, missionaries, you name it--would gather for a game of rugby and a barbecue. Life is good here.

I will miss Pangani. Leaving the hot dry dust of Arusha and heading to the coast is like entering a different world. We know when we're getting close--the air inside the car suddenly become heavy with humidity. The kids roll down the windows and hang out the last miles, waving as we pass through villages nestled in tall palm trees. Everything changes. The smells, the sounds, the rhythm of the days. We've come to love spending time without a computer, a phone, a television, even a radio. There's nothing but the sun, a book, and the day. I refuse to eat chicken or beef when I'm at the coast, ordinary foods that I can get any time. Even potatoes are a no-no. Instead, it's crab sandwiches, garlic prawns, grilled fish (whatever they caught that day), accompanied by coconut rice, and a glass of wine. The humidity sits over everything, making afternoon naps completely logical, even if you end up on a lounge in the shade instead of a bed. Heaven.

"We all lose friends.. we lose them in death, to distance and over time. But even though they may be lost, hope is not. The key is to keep them in your heart, and when the time is right, you can pick up the friendship right where you left off."

I don't have pictures of every friend I've made here. They are Tanzanian, Dutch, German, Australian, New Zealanders, British, Swedish, Canadian, and Congolese. They are missionaries, development workers, doctors, farmers, teachers, and business owners. They have just arrived, they have lived here for years, they were born here. Without question they embraced us, made us feel welcome, included us, and supported us. Without the accoutrements of modern living, they became the people we turned to in times of stress and danger. Of all the aspects of living in Arusha that I had imagined, I was never prepared for the community. We had friends who were in their 60s, and in their 20s. Friends who never stepped foot in a church, friends who had just discovered Christ, and friends who have a sense of faith and contentment that I can only hope to aspire to. Amongst the universal furstrations of life in general, we lived with people who were dramatically passionate and committed--about their faith, about Tanzania, about their families, about living here--in a way that is not as evident in our lives in the States. We will leave knowing it is unlikely that we will ever see these friends again. We will return for a short time to dear dear friends in the States and then venture on to a new place where I know wonderful people are waiting. But the leaving is hard.

And finally, we will miss PHS. From 100 acres of nothing, we watched trees grow. Buildings rose slowly but surely. In only 18 months, a school was ready (enough) to receive its first class of students. It's an amazing bit of work. And while the buildings generated interest and enthusiasm, they're nothing unless they are filled with students. PHF's mission, after all, isn't to build pretty buildings. It exists to provide what should be a fundamental right for everyone to children who have no hope of attending school.

We have watched 120 students begin a journey to a new life, thanks to donations and volunteers and countless hours of work. We have watched teachers work to understand a new culture of thinking and acting in education. We have watched them proudly show their talents in art, music, sports, and academics. They are so much more than they realize, but they are starting to understand that, to believe that there is something they can achieve. We are leaving a solid foundation in good hands. To think that only we could do this work would be foolish. PHS will continue to grow and thrive in ways that we can't imagine. We are simply one small piece of the puzzle.

Many people would ask, "Why leave?" Since we've lived here, I've watched people leave, and wondered how they knew it was time. What was it that tipped the balance and made them say, "it's time for someplace else"? Perhaps naively we imagined that we would put down the same kind of roots here that we had in Minnesota, yet when it was time, we knew. Despite what we love, we are convinced that we are being called away. We know that we can face the unknown challenges because we know there are untold blessings ahead. We're just not allowed to see either at this time. We have received far more than we've given, and whatever we have endured has been minimal in comparison to the lives of the people here.

But it is time. It doesn't relieve the sadness and the loss to know that. We are free to choose because we don't know what's ahead. Because we are certain that God is leading, whatever comes.

Isak Dineson ("Out of Africa") wrote, "God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road." Strangely, amazingly, I've come to agree with her. And that may be the biggest blessing of all.