At the Rift Valley Academy (Kijabe, Kenya)..

Here we sit in the simple, sparse, Kijabe guesthouse, with cold Kenyan winds whipping down the escarpment, and only three kids getting ready for bed. We moved Luke into his dorm today, his siblings helping tack family photos on the wall above his top bunk, and making his bed with his new quilt, filling his drawers with clothes. Just before that we had an informal meeting with the math department head who quizzed Luke on the spot with about 10 questions on the order of "What is the sine of pi over 3?" and "What does your room look like at home?" and thereby decided he was ready for BC Calculus (no one has been quite confident of his peculiar transcripts and patchy educational background, but we are betting that Desmond, Kevin, and Sarah will be vindicated!) . . . we almost missed that appointment because the news went around that elephants had blocked the road to the school preventing students from arriving. There is this curious juxtaposition of American accents and American curriculum with the African setting, and for our kids who have been in a British-descended African curriculum in a poverty-setting for years, the changes are mostly good but still a lot to adjust to. Water fountains and a cafeteria that serves hot dogs, an air-conditioned computer lab and a carpeted library. But ambling elephants, and serious perimeter security, and the memory that this country was nearly imploding in post-election violence a few months ago. The last 48 hours have felt like weeks as we've gone through a tremendously informative and helpful "New Parent Orientation". Too much to tell . . . tonight I will mention only three things. First, that we have been overwhelmingly impressed by the quality of the school and the dedication of the staff. Every step we have sensed God's provision. At one point I felt amazed by my own arogance that I could have ever imagined that I could cobble together two more years of high school at home in Bundibugyo that would be anything comparable to the dozens of excellent teachers, administrators, counselors, coaches, dorm parents, and support staff that pour their lives into the kids here. The classes, the activities, the sports, the social connection with other missionary kids, are all invaluable. These people understand teenagers, and missionary kids, and crossing cultures, and growing up. Second, that we can look back and realize the many threads of our lives over the years that make this moment of separation more palatable. We had dinner tonight with the family of the resident dentist, who befriended us more than a decade ago when we had to evacuate and live here. After dinner Luke headed back to the dorms with the dentist's two sons, one of whom Luke had briefly attended Kindergarten with. Our guardian family is another doctor whom we became friends with while living here and have visited and vacationed with over the years. Every couple of hours we seem to run into another person with whom we have some history and connection, and as the hours accumulate I sense the wonder of the Kingdom of God in Africa, the incredible labor of all these faithful men and women. We are sometimes isolated in our small circles in Bundibugyo; coming to RVA is a blessing to all of our family as we meet (and re-meet) the saints. And thirdly, I am impressed that Luke is ready. He is a great guy, and seeing him in this setting I can see that he fits here. My confidence in him grows. All that said, no matter how right the decision and how great the offerings, the pain of separation is almost upon us. We'll touch base a couple of more times over the next 24 hours, and then on Wednesday morning we'll head back to Uganda and leave Luke here. One sympathetic "how are you doing" from the dorm mom brought me to tears today already. God's will is like that. Even when it is right and good it can hurt, as in the cross. I think that CS Lewis wrote that anyone who does not believe a good God can allow pain has not been to the dentist . . . While we believe that this step is GOOD for Luke, we grieve the loss in our own hearts, and what is even harder is to accept the inevitable pain he will bear. No matter how clean, safe, efficient, and friendly the dorm is, it is still a dorm, not a family, and for a 15 year old finding his way through adolescence, through American school, through living away from his family, all at the same time . . there will be rough days. So tonight he spends his first night in the dorm, and we spend one more day in the neighborhood, bracing for goodbyes.