The dark fell and then later it got darker still. From the edge of night to the beginning of the dawn, we are flying 37,000 feet above the earth, traveling at 580 mph. I feign sleep, and only fool myself. Too many things on my mind. Too many thoughts, too many what ifs, too many how will it all play out, swirled around the tired neurons that long for rest. And just so you know, all those thoughts are not "worries", but simply thoughts of anticipation of what we are going to be doing. A long week ahead with many patients to see. But there is one thing that does gnaw at me and that is the silence we will hold in public, the silence of prayer. These are weary times in the world where open declaration of a faith is targeted if it is contrary to that of those who are self righteous in their own faith leaving little if any room for others to express their personal belief in a God. So, we remain silent. No need to force the issue. No need to cause conflict. And that is what will be different for us this time. Silent prayer.
I'm reminded of an event that occurred recently. At a university, the dictum was that the speakers, including the student valedictorian, could not reference God in their graduation speeches. When the student valedictorian approached the podium to give his speech, he sneezed, and as planned, the whole graduating class yelled out "God bless you!". There. Done. So I'm going to share this with the team and see how we can use it as an example of a subtle, okay, not so subtle, declaration of faith. It's worth a shot. I'll let you know how it turns out.
I'm writing this on the plane with a few hours yet to go before we arrive in Kenya. I have no idea if we will get all our luggage and the medical supplies and loaded onto the truck that will take it all to our final destination. I'll add a paragraph or two at the end of the day and let you know. For now, I sit on the plane watching the little airplane icon on the moving map cross the African continent and silently pray and wonder what lies ahead.
And now the time is later. We've arrived at our destination, with all the suitcases and medical supplies yet 2.5 hours away as they had to come by truck. A little set back. So it all starts tomorrow, 40 miles from where we are now, on ravaged roads leading to an isolated project. When the sun touches the horizon in the morning, yielding a burst of orange light, we'll head out to where we are supposed to be and begin to see those who wait for us. For now, sleep beckons and I wonder if I will oblige. I really should I suppose.
In all things give thanks,
David
Sent with Writer
