Food prices are skyrocketing, so money is even tighter than usual. Some evidence that life is harder:
-Usually, there are 2 or 3 street boys in my neighborhood, who beg for food and money. On Sunday, there were about 8.
- In the past year, 3 people have approached me asking for a job. (White skin = money, duh...) In one afternoon this past weekend, 4 different people came up to me and asked for a job.
Pray for the poor in Kenya, that God would meet their material needs. And pray that I would know how to respond in each situation.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Blindfolded
When we were small, we lived 2 blocks from the grocery store and 1 block from the swimming pool. My mom has long joked, "I want you to be like Jesus- so we walk everywhere!" And we did, even when our legs were tiny and our feet tender. Sometimes, when we were tired and whiny walking home, Mom would wrap a beach towel over our eyes and lead us by the hand, telling us when to take big steps, stop for a passing car, or when to expect gravel instead of concrete. We learned to stay close to her, trust her direction, and listen for her voice.
A decade and a half later, I was in northern WI at the beginning of Wheaton's freshman backpacking trip, an experience that changed me in many ways, but this was before much changing had taken place. Our group was blindfolded and led in a line to the ropes course. Thinking back on it, it was a very practical blindfolding- we were walking right through the middle of camp but thought we were in unexplored forest. I remember cheating- looking through the bottom of my blindfold to get some idea what the ground was like.
Two weeks after that, I would have given anything to be blindfolded and led. I was exhausted, having walked further, cried harder, and dealt with more pain than I had ever experienced before. I wanted to just walk with my eyes closed, to not have to make any decisions, and to hear my mom's certain voice alerting me to the dangers ahead.
And about a week ago I was again walking blind.
We departed from Kibo Hut at midnight, after some cookies and a hot Drink of Summitters. The mountain had been fogged in when we arrived the afternoon before, and we could only see the foot of the uphill trail we would be taking throughout the night. When we departed, however, it was clear and cold- I was wearing every layer of long underwear, fleece, and windproofing I owned, but I'd start to shiver whenever I stood still. I wisely filled my camelbak with hot water and wore it under my ski jacket, but the exposed part of the tube still froze.
There was no moon, and I have never seen stars like that. With such thin atmosphere, the points of light were brighter and nearer than I thought possible, right at the edge of the black hulk of the mountain. I was reminded of a book that was read to me as a child, where in the end all the centaurs simply walk into the sky and are greeted by the stars. I felt like we were hiking toward the seam of earth and sky.
It was hard to get a sense for how steep the mountain was as we switchbacked up and up and up by the light of our headlamps. We could see the glow of other groups above and below us as they too fought the mountain for passage, fought the atmosphere for breath, and fought their bodies for strength. Usually, I can sing to myself to keep going, but this time I could only repeat one line over and over: You are my Strength when I am weak. You are my Strength when I am weak.
We rested our muscles at each switchback turn. I couldn't tell where the trail was, but Moses led us through the coarse scree with the slow purpose I had come to trust. We had been above treeline for days, and now we were above vegetation at all. There were only different sizes of rock- boulder, scree, sand, and dust. We stopped in the shelter of a bigger rock, and he handed us a small cup of tea from a thermos. That warm, sweet drink was the best I have ever tasted.
And on we pressed. The looming shape of the mountain never got any smaller. The starline seemed equally far away. And upward we hiked. I happened to glance at the sky just as a shooting star fell- my gasp of delight made everyone think I had been injured, and it took a moment to sort that out.
After a while, I had no energy to even look around. All that existed were the heels of the person in front of me and the pounding of my heart as my blood ran triple-time to get any oxygen to my body. The terrain changed, from plodding through coarse sand to skirting snow to grappling up sharp volcanic boulders. We passed other hikers who we had met over the previous 4 days- some were getting sick, others were unsure as to whether they should go on.
And suddenly, like appearing over a canyon edge, we were there. Gillman's Point. On the rim of Mount Kilimanjaro. Our group merged with another, and we sang songs and drank more tea. The route description I had read beforehand said it would take another 2 hours of walking along the crater rim to reach the very highest point. But we were feeling good and ready to continue.
Somewhere along here I lose my memory. I remember hiking along an edge, but not a particularly narrow one. I remember getting to Stella Point, where the climbers from another route joined us. I remember thinking that I don't especially like hiking on snow. And I remember the sun coming up over our right shoulders as Marcey looked at me with concern. My legs weren't working right, and I could no longer tell if I was hot or cold. I was just... there.
I recalled my mother's pre-trip warning: "As I was praying for you, I was impressed to tell you to beware of your strong will!" I knew my thoughts were sluggish, and I decided to be wise, admit my body was feeble, and turn around. But when I expressed my weakness, God responded with one of the greatest acts of kindness I've ever experienced: Moses came to me, took my hand, and led me. I nearly began to cry in surprise and gratitude. I walked with my eyes closed, resting my head on his shoulder whenever we paused, feeling the warmth of the sun and the focus of the guide beside me. He lent me his strength, and he had perspective I didn't- he knew the summit was just past what I could see. About 20 feet from the top, he handed me back my trekking poles and said "I know you can do it from here."
Indeed I did. The early sun was blinding, and the wind was starting to pick up. I remember hanging on to one side of the sign while someone took pictures. Though the air was clear, my mind was a fog, but I instinctively knew I didn't want to stay here for long. We began the walk back, and my acuity increased with each downhill step.
By the time we got to Gillman's, I was mentally back again, and I looked down in amazement at what we had done: we had come up THAT?! You're kidding! That's 75 degree loose scree, peppered with just enough boulders to make it really bad if you fell! I did this in the dark? I think it's safe to say that if I had seen the path ahead of time, I probably wouldn't have done it. And that's part of the beauty of being blindfolded, isn't it? If you can only see by the light of your headlamp, you only concern yourself with those 3 steps. There are advantages to not seeing the big picture.
I've done a lot of whining about how I don't know what this summer will look like. And the Kili trip was God's tangible reminder that I don't have to know the plan for it to be a good one. So my summer prayer has become
I accept the darkness
A decade and a half later, I was in northern WI at the beginning of Wheaton's freshman backpacking trip, an experience that changed me in many ways, but this was before much changing had taken place. Our group was blindfolded and led in a line to the ropes course. Thinking back on it, it was a very practical blindfolding- we were walking right through the middle of camp but thought we were in unexplored forest. I remember cheating- looking through the bottom of my blindfold to get some idea what the ground was like.
Two weeks after that, I would have given anything to be blindfolded and led. I was exhausted, having walked further, cried harder, and dealt with more pain than I had ever experienced before. I wanted to just walk with my eyes closed, to not have to make any decisions, and to hear my mom's certain voice alerting me to the dangers ahead.
And about a week ago I was again walking blind.
We departed from Kibo Hut at midnight, after some cookies and a hot Drink of Summitters. The mountain had been fogged in when we arrived the afternoon before, and we could only see the foot of the uphill trail we would be taking throughout the night. When we departed, however, it was clear and cold- I was wearing every layer of long underwear, fleece, and windproofing I owned, but I'd start to shiver whenever I stood still. I wisely filled my camelbak with hot water and wore it under my ski jacket, but the exposed part of the tube still froze.
There was no moon, and I have never seen stars like that. With such thin atmosphere, the points of light were brighter and nearer than I thought possible, right at the edge of the black hulk of the mountain. I was reminded of a book that was read to me as a child, where in the end all the centaurs simply walk into the sky and are greeted by the stars. I felt like we were hiking toward the seam of earth and sky.
It was hard to get a sense for how steep the mountain was as we switchbacked up and up and up by the light of our headlamps. We could see the glow of other groups above and below us as they too fought the mountain for passage, fought the atmosphere for breath, and fought their bodies for strength. Usually, I can sing to myself to keep going, but this time I could only repeat one line over and over: You are my Strength when I am weak. You are my Strength when I am weak.
We rested our muscles at each switchback turn. I couldn't tell where the trail was, but Moses led us through the coarse scree with the slow purpose I had come to trust. We had been above treeline for days, and now we were above vegetation at all. There were only different sizes of rock- boulder, scree, sand, and dust. We stopped in the shelter of a bigger rock, and he handed us a small cup of tea from a thermos. That warm, sweet drink was the best I have ever tasted.
And on we pressed. The looming shape of the mountain never got any smaller. The starline seemed equally far away. And upward we hiked. I happened to glance at the sky just as a shooting star fell- my gasp of delight made everyone think I had been injured, and it took a moment to sort that out.
After a while, I had no energy to even look around. All that existed were the heels of the person in front of me and the pounding of my heart as my blood ran triple-time to get any oxygen to my body. The terrain changed, from plodding through coarse sand to skirting snow to grappling up sharp volcanic boulders. We passed other hikers who we had met over the previous 4 days- some were getting sick, others were unsure as to whether they should go on.
And suddenly, like appearing over a canyon edge, we were there. Gillman's Point. On the rim of Mount Kilimanjaro. Our group merged with another, and we sang songs and drank more tea. The route description I had read beforehand said it would take another 2 hours of walking along the crater rim to reach the very highest point. But we were feeling good and ready to continue.
Somewhere along here I lose my memory. I remember hiking along an edge, but not a particularly narrow one. I remember getting to Stella Point, where the climbers from another route joined us. I remember thinking that I don't especially like hiking on snow. And I remember the sun coming up over our right shoulders as Marcey looked at me with concern. My legs weren't working right, and I could no longer tell if I was hot or cold. I was just... there.
I recalled my mother's pre-trip warning: "As I was praying for you, I was impressed to tell you to beware of your strong will!" I knew my thoughts were sluggish, and I decided to be wise, admit my body was feeble, and turn around. But when I expressed my weakness, God responded with one of the greatest acts of kindness I've ever experienced: Moses came to me, took my hand, and led me. I nearly began to cry in surprise and gratitude. I walked with my eyes closed, resting my head on his shoulder whenever we paused, feeling the warmth of the sun and the focus of the guide beside me. He lent me his strength, and he had perspective I didn't- he knew the summit was just past what I could see. About 20 feet from the top, he handed me back my trekking poles and said "I know you can do it from here."
Indeed I did. The early sun was blinding, and the wind was starting to pick up. I remember hanging on to one side of the sign while someone took pictures. Though the air was clear, my mind was a fog, but I instinctively knew I didn't want to stay here for long. We began the walk back, and my acuity increased with each downhill step.
By the time we got to Gillman's, I was mentally back again, and I looked down in amazement at what we had done: we had come up THAT?! You're kidding! That's 75 degree loose scree, peppered with just enough boulders to make it really bad if you fell! I did this in the dark? I think it's safe to say that if I had seen the path ahead of time, I probably wouldn't have done it. And that's part of the beauty of being blindfolded, isn't it? If you can only see by the light of your headlamp, you only concern yourself with those 3 steps. There are advantages to not seeing the big picture.
I've done a lot of whining about how I don't know what this summer will look like. And the Kili trip was God's tangible reminder that I don't have to know the plan for it to be a good one. So my summer prayer has become
in it I see the stars
I embrace my weakness
there I experience new strength
And I thank You for the blindfolded times
for I know beyond a doubt
I am being led.
I am being led.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Climbing Pictures
Well, obviously I can't climb Kilimanjaro and NOT post a bunch of pictures. Brace yourself- it's a pile. But they tell a story...Obviously, I decided to go, was able to pack with no notice, and was able to get into Tanzania with no trouble. The bus ride there even looked a little like Northern New Mexico, with acasia trees instead of juniper. That made me happy and less homesick.
We spent the night in Moshi at the hotel that manages the trips, and posed in front of the then-meaningless sign: strangers to each other and strangers to what "5895 M" really means...
I always thought I was a slow hiker. And I can hear Wes agreeing with me, even from here. :) But truthfully, I had NO IDEA what slow hiking really meant until this trip. The motto for climbing Kilimanjaro is "pole pole"- which can mean go slow/be careful/no rush. As our guide Moses said, "There is no hurry in Africa." He had a point. I didn't know it was possible to hike that slowly. I could have done the wedding march step-together-pause step-together-pause and moved faster. But it was good weather, not strenuous, and I was happy to walk and listen and chat with my new acquaintances. The scenery was beautiful too.
Impatience Kilimanjari- an ironic name for a flower found only here
Throughout the hike, we stayed in huts like this one.
Our first glimpse of Kibo peak on day 2; the one to the right is Mawenzi
Throughout the hike, we stayed in huts like this one.
We even got pillows on our beds. Classy, nature-toned ones.
Fortunately, there was plenty of natural beauty outside.
About halfway up, we stayed in the same hut 2 nights in a row for acclimatization, and we took a day hike to Zebra Rocks.
By this time, Marcey and I were far from strangers, and we really enjoyed each other. My favorite story: our second morning at Kibo, she had set her phone to go off a little early so she could get packed by breakfast. Now, phones here simply don't have good ringtones. They are all obnoxious, electric-sounding ditties that make you want to plunge the phone deep in a bucket of water. Or, I suppose, answer it immediately. Anything to make it stop. So yes, Marcy had thoughtfully set her alarm to vibrate 3 times before it began to ring, but she had also been listening to her ipod, reading using her headlamp, and had pulled her mummy bag tight around her head. So when it went off, I awakened to the sound of vibration on wood 3 times, some wriggling, the phone beginning to sing its merry tune, some more wriggling, a louder version of the same tune, more aggressive and determined wriggling, and finally a sweet but somewhat muffled voice saying, "I'll turn that off as soon as I can get my hands free..." In the bunk above me, she was completely stuck in her sleeping bag, helpless, cords tangled every which way, while the phone began to sing Christmas carols, I believe. It was a real highlight of the trip. 
Fortunately, there was plenty of natural beauty outside.
About halfway up, we stayed in the same hut 2 nights in a row for acclimatization, and we took a day hike to Zebra Rocks.
She eventually made it out of the sleeping bag, and we headed uphill as always. 
The alpine desert that followed was beautiful in its own stark way. 
After several hours, we made it to Kibo hut, which was the highest I had ever been at that point. Fourteeners are for wimps!
That high up, your body gets weird. Oxygen is kinda important to functioning, they tell me, and so the lack of it causes all sorts of issues. The best ways to combat these issues are to take in a ridiculous amount of calories and liquid. Our favorite method was the Drink Of Summitters: 2 spoons Milo, 3 of protein-enriched milk, 1 of instant coffee, 2 sugar, and some HOT water (the only way all that will stay in solution). Sounds gross, tastes phenomenal. 
After several hours, we made it to Kibo hut, which was the highest I had ever been at that point. Fourteeners are for wimps!
See? It makes me happy. And warm enough to take off my gloves. 
We went to bed at 6, I dreamt of aliens and of middle school band (was it the altitude or the Drink Of Summitters?), and we awoke at 11 PM to attempt the summit. 
The process of summiting will be a separate post, but the very short version is that we hiked from midnight until 5 AM, making a kilometer of elevation gain, seeing the most incredible stars, and going very slowly. Funny, it didn't feel slow any more. My headlamp died after about an hour; Marcey gave me hers and Mr. Pleasant the assistant guide gave her his. And on we trekked. Gillman's Point was reached before dawn, and that was the end of the serious uphill. I hope I will always remember singing "How Great Thou Art" in Swahili with Mr. Moses and Mr. Pleasant at 18,638 feet above sea level.
We hiked along the crater, and as the sun began to rise, the altitude started to affect me. I was incredibly tired and felt like if I could just close my eyes and go to sleep, everything would be OK. (Of course it would be OK- I'd go meet Jesus then...). My mother had reminded me before I left, "Beware of your strong will!" As it turned out, heeding her advice led to one of the greatest blessings of the trip.
We had been hiking on snow, and my muscles weren't behaving. Marcey was giving me her concerned/don't be stupid look, I could tell my thoughts were sluggish, and so I said to Moses, "I am too tired. It's time for me to go back." He looked at me, took my hand, and said, "See, it is just past where you can see now. I will walk with you. You can lean on me." And I did. He walked beside me, held me up, and gave me strength to get all the way to the summit.
When we got to the top, I couldn't figure out how to get my camera out of my jacket, but Marcey did and took some pictures.
You can see that I was tired, but you can also see that we made it. =) 
At that point, my compelling desire was to GET DOWN, and we did. Once we were back at Gillman's point my brain felt like it was on morphine- happy and dopey and nothing could go wrong. Moses wisely hiked on the crater side of me... Another 100 meter descent and I was my normal calculus-joke-telling self.
After a little sleep at Kibo Hut , we continued to hike down for the next day and a half.
We finally arrived back where we had started.
Triumphant.
And tired.
Triumphant.
And tired.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Insanity or Providence?
It started off like a regular first day of summer- sleep in, drink coffee for a long time, do whatever comes along. God was already making use of my car, my willingness, and my free time- one friend got picked up from the hospital, another got taken to the airport. After the airport I decided to walk the track as I often do in the evening, and I picked up a friend's dog for the exercise.
When I returned the dog, I sat and chatted with their company for a few minutes. One girl, a nurse from Canada, was visiting Africa with the MCC, and she was planning to climb Kilimanjaro starting Monday. She asked I wanted to come.
Huh.
I don't have many other plans for the week, thanks to everything I've ever conceived of falling through. The IRS economic stimulus check would about pay for it. And it's a life dream of mine to climb Kili.
Starting tomorrow?!? With a stranger?!? With no training beforehand?!? Is this insane?
Or is this again evidence that God is the only keeper of the plan book, and I should trust Him and go with the doors He opens?
After a few semi-panicked phone calls, text messages, emails, and gmail chats, I'm going. Assuming God keeps this door open.
Either I'll write an eloquent post if it falls through tomorrow, or I'll put up some phenomenal pictures in a week. If you don't hear from me by Tuesday, please pray that I get to summit, that I develop good relationships with my traveling companions, and that I am safe and healthy throughout.
God's plans are always interesting, I'll give Him that...
When I returned the dog, I sat and chatted with their company for a few minutes. One girl, a nurse from Canada, was visiting Africa with the MCC, and she was planning to climb Kilimanjaro starting Monday. She asked I wanted to come.
Huh.
I don't have many other plans for the week, thanks to everything I've ever conceived of falling through. The IRS economic stimulus check would about pay for it. And it's a life dream of mine to climb Kili.
Starting tomorrow?!? With a stranger?!? With no training beforehand?!? Is this insane?
Or is this again evidence that God is the only keeper of the plan book, and I should trust Him and go with the doors He opens?
After a few semi-panicked phone calls, text messages, emails, and gmail chats, I'm going. Assuming God keeps this door open.
Either I'll write an eloquent post if it falls through tomorrow, or I'll put up some phenomenal pictures in a week. If you don't hear from me by Tuesday, please pray that I get to summit, that I develop good relationships with my traveling companions, and that I am safe and healthy throughout.
God's plans are always interesting, I'll give Him that...
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