Uvumilivu.
Patience.
n.
"an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay"
Patience is not one of my strongest virtues. When I was young, I became impatient way too quickly. My lack of this virtue would often result in spankings, time outs, and the loss of a privilege. However, because of the disciplinary actions I received at a young age, I slowly gained the ability to control my emotions when my patience ran out. I practice the art of self-calming, self-containment. As of lately, though, my ability to sustain patience has died once again.
I find myself becoming impatient with issues that did not used to be a bother to me. When I hear complaints about the variety of food, about the undesired conditions of a shelter, or about the slow speed of a wifi connection, I lose my patience. It takes all I have within me to keep from spitting out snarky remarks to shame such negative thoughts about a given matter. I try to bottle up the overwhelming desire tell of my students, of the people I encountered who would be so full of joy to live like them, to live like kings and queens. It requires all of my self-control to calm my boiling blood before the heat of the anger reaches my face and fills my skin with the redness of dispute.
Patience is a difficult practice.
More than this, however, I am impatient about going back. I count the days I have been on U.S. soil and wait so unwillingly for the time when the days I have been back will outnumber the days before I return. I am so eager, so ready. Upon my unwanted return, thoughts so frequently flew through my racing mind: Why am I here? What purpose do I have being back? Why can't I just drop the life I once knew in exchange for the one I have come to love? Is it really necessary for my presence to be situated here? The question of "why" hit me everyday for weeks, if not longer. I talked to my parents, to my friends, and even to some professors. They each gave me similar answers, but I still sought more. One friend, however, finally gave me the solution I needed rather than wanted.
"Satan will absolutely try to convince you that Kenya is the only right place for you, and so to be anywhere else is wrong. If you believe that lie, your soul will whither from your perceived distance from where you 'should be,' and therefore from God. But our God never wastes a moment. Not in Africa, not in the USA, not anywhere. So you get up and smile and dance and praise... Chin up, even if your neck is dirty."
This stung. I wanted to wallow in self pity. I wanted everyone to feel bad for my return. I, by all means, did NOT want anyone to tell me that I that I needed to make the most of my time here instead of mourning as I had been. Though I did not desire this message, I needed it oh so badly.
And God works in wonderful ways when we are obedient and willing. The day that I finally chose to take off the black garments of grief and redress myself in bright, vibrant, living colors, God opened a door. A girl whom I had met a short while earlier came across my path, literally, as I was walking around campus. This young woman just so happens to be from Kenya, and she just so happens to speak fluent Swahili, and she just so happens to be willing to help me learn more. We ate lunch together and spent many hours speaking and laughing, sharing joy and sharing life. Since that time, we have communed together over Kericho chai and danced to Swahili music. I cherish our friendship deeply. God allowed me to finally have a chance to connect with this lovely lady when I finally chose to accept the fact that He can and will use me no matter where I am. And because of this, I am grateful.
Sometimes the days are long, and sometimes the wait seems unbearable. But God is over all. He knows no impossible. It seems unrealistic that God could have other plans for me, plans that I have not so delicately constructed. But once again, God well and truly knows the best for us. I love to make better plans. But only God knows best.
It isn't until we let go of the root in the midst of the current that we experience the sweetness of land merely feet away.
With a newfound patience while proudly showing off my dirty neck,
Bekah
