Unique, tropical yet familiar, canalyas below heritage roses and a banana tree with green fruit growing.
I love the sceenery, our pourch over looks the great rift valley.
But I can't help but notice that the valley is littered with the white UNICEF relief tents of refugees still struggling for necessity after the post-election violence three years ago. Still, how many prayers since then? How much suffering since then?
In research I write the names of the newly diagnosed with HIV for one year past, and I ask the Lord how long? How long will these suffer and die? Burnt with the sin of the world?
I take this morning to rest, read, and walk looking for beauty...I search for butterflies.
But I am careful to walk clear around the hospital, for I know that place too well. It is a place of immense suffering: death, disease, dismemberment, loss. My roommate comes home from the hospital and describes the careful bathing of her patient; the skin sloughed and bleeding, the man hurt and angry. This is the kingdom, she says, to serve in the mess.
This is the kingdom.
Looking for beauty in the ashes, we are here to serve, light in a fallen darkness, salt of the earth. I want to see God. I want Him here, in this, to walk with him through all of this so I can see Him make beauty in the mess.
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