Where Its at.

One day I learned from a sharp African wind that broke into my being

that I was not in control.

It took from me my analyzing and the map I had made for myself. Like a runaway ballon, it slipped from my grasp and flitted up, up and away. I had nothing to hold on to. And so I said, God, take care of me.

I looked at the grey sky, ready to drench the earth with the tears of its tantrum and I said, God, take care of me.

And I thought about Zach, my brother since playing in the mud and walking around naked. He used to be a short bobber of a kid, something mischievious always in his eyes, something wiggly always writhing in his hands.

And I was in this van with other people who had become my family over a week’s time in Kenya together. We were headed back to Nairobi, bouncing up and down to the beat of thick third world traffic. Fog was descending upon the mountains. I wondered if God was speaking to someone from within a cloud somewhere up there. The rain was wiggling down the windows like minnows or sperm.

And at that point in time, Zach was in jail. And I said, God, take care of him.

I just kept looking out the window then. The women became acrobats carrying baskets on their heads. The men’s faces turned into dusty stories. I saw laughter spinning on the children’s cheeks and blowing kisses out of their eyes. The whole world was coming back to life for me. I can’t tell you what it was about that moment but I became a child again. Something about the chemistry of it all beckoned me to let go.

And so I skipped back to my five-year-old dreams that are backed by nothing but imagination and took up a wide eyed faith that God will give me wings.