As I walked into Mayfield this evening, I found two of my favorite occasional-Mayfield-dwellers in the lobby, waiting to go out for dinner. "Merry Christmas!" they announced. They're here from Sudan for an early Christmas break. "Did you just come in [from up-country]?"
I explained that I had been out this evening and had seen Lions for Lambs. (How could I resist a movie with Meryl Streep, Tom Cruise and Robert Redford in it? Plus, the tag line was too good for someone with my passions to ignore: What do you: live . . . die . . . fight . . . stand for?) It's sort-of a political commentary on the war, I continued.
"Which war?" they asked. An obvious question to ask when you're from a country where war may break out any day again. An obvious question to any person in Kenya, really, when you're surrounded by war-torn countries - Somalia in the east, Sudan in the north, Congo not too far south west. Not to speak of tribal warfare going on on our own soil, even just an hour from where I live.
It's only because I had just come from the movie that was about the war on terror that I forgot for a moment that it's not the only war going on right now. Far from it.
When I stopped by the girls' room later on to drop off The Kite Runner (Excellent book, by the way. It gives you a greater understanding of the war in Afghanistan through the eyes of an Afghan) they had Christmas lights strung up in their room. Just to be sure it feels like Christmas.
To me, it does feel like Christmas eve tonight. How so? Because tomorrow evening, I'll be heading to the airport to meet the team from Iowa. I know I said it earlier, but you have no idea how exciting it will be to have good friends around for a few days! Their days will be packed with ministry, but I'm determined that after the conference every day, after the team meeting and debriefing, that Nan, Danette and I will play hand and foot at least a few times. (It's very similar to Canasta.) Because we can. And because that's one of our favorite things to do in Iowa.
Problem is, they'd probably be jet-lagged and more than ready to sleep by the time the women's conference is over every day. Perhaps they should come and knock on my door at 3 am, when jet lag typically wakes visitors up. Not that it would be anything unusual for me to be woken up then. Flannel does it all the time. But at least I won't squirt them with water or throw a pillow at them! Not a chance!