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So obviously I’ve been busy and the internet is sketchy right now but I want to let you in on what’s going on here. I’ve fully moved into my flat, all I need is curtains, and God really stretched the money I have so I’m not having to cook over a campfire or sleep on the ground. I’m very comfortable and I thank the Lord that he has really made my flat a refuge for me. At first coming home here felt like I was stepping into some sort of prison, the walls closing in on me here all by myself . . . . So that is an answer to prayer.

Carol, the mzungu missionary that has been working here for 20 years, lives just two floors below me and she has been an immense blessing. A couple weeks ago I came up to my flat (back when it was a prison) and sat down to answer emails. I was reading one from Curtis—which is always a treat—and this overwhelming feeling of loneliness just came over me. I couldn’t even read the email through the tears. I was outright bawling like a dang baby, and I prayed, “Lord please let Carol come up here.” (She had never come up here before, and hasn’t since because I always end up going in her flat since it’s by the stairs and on my way up.) I was at the point where I was considering the repercussions of leaving (dang open ended ticket . . .), really at the point of breaking, snapping, whatever you want to call it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so terrible. Not two minutes later I heard my doorbell (which I didn’t even know I had), and I got up from the table with my tear-streaked, red-eyed face and answered the door. It was Carol. “Are you ok?” “No-ot rre-al-ly.” (Kinda hard to play “I’ve got it all together” when your eyes are swollen to half-mast and your nose is running like the dang Amazon river.) “What’s the matter?” So long story short I made myself as presentable as possible and we went to eat Chinese and got ice cream and she drove me around, helping me get my bearings of the city, and told me about her big break down moments when she was first here as a short-term missionary. So, another answered prayer.

I am currently teaching CRE (Christian Religious Education), the Old Testament, Computers, and Literature to one student (we’re gonna read Pride and Prejudice and The Importance of Being Earnest, bless his heart, I got to pick). Teaching is not my love, but I’m pressing on. I’m still helping coach the basketball girls and loving it. We have a tournament this Saturday and I really hope they win at least one. Motivation is a difficult trait to instill, but Kimani (the coach) had all but decided that we weren’t going to play on Saturday. The team called a meeting on their own, decided (apparently after many words) that they were gonna suck it up and show some effort. So we’re gonna play. If you’re looking for ways to pray, unity is something you pray for our team. I love working with the girls, it’s my favorite. They have me running up to two and a half miles now, and I think I’m gonna have to start icing my joints. But I love it. Running is one of my favorite outlets and now I have people pushing me to do it. One of the players, Jehmimah—I have no idea how to spell that, you know, as in, “Aunt . . .”—is a real sweet girl. She even came over and helped me clean one afternoon. We end up talking a lot about just whatever. I’m only teaching Form 1 (freshman), and we have to freshman on the team. This has actually turned out to be a good thing, because I’m not actually teaching them, it’s easier to get close to them.
Another BIG reason for prayer: I’m tutoring 2 Muslim students.

I still haven’t found a church, but I went with Carol to her life group last Sunday and loved it. It was so good to be around other strong and seeking believers, even if they are a bunch of Calvinists…haha. Of course, it’s no Equate Death Team, but it is really nice. One of the girls who goes there, Jackie, is a native Kenyan who works with Muslim and Hindu youth and children. I think (since I’m only teaching Form 1’s and I have a lot of extra time during the day at school) I’m gonna start helping her for the rest of the year.

Also, I still need a friend. Not only does living along stink, but not having anyone to really talk to stinks even worse. I love Carol and thank God for her like every day, but she’s probably more of a mother-type figure. She’s a lot of fun and great to go to for advice, but I’d love to have a friend my age. (I miss Melanie! . . . I don’t remotely expect to find someone as awesome as Mel, I don’t think they’re putting out very many models at that level of awesomeness, but I would love a good friend.)

Yet again, thank you for your prayers and emails. I couldn’t be here doing this without you.