Moving . . moving . . moved

Writing, at last, from home.  Yes, we now live someplace (renters, but it feels like ours).  A house with a yard and a porch, and two bathrooms, and fresh paint, where two sacred ibis were just picking their way around the wilty dry yard as Julia and I searched for a few flowers to brighten the table.

Table?  Yes, we have a table too.  First, mid-Wednesday, we had six mattresses and a stove and fridge, and decided that was enough to justify occupation.  So we moved over from the furnished apartment to sleep on the floor that evening, a much more exhausting process than I anticipated.  Had to go back and make pancakes at the first place that night since I had nothing to cook with, though there was a stove to cook ON.  Then Thursday we carried in the dozen trunks we had stored in two families' attics here, caked with dust, filled with the fragments of our life in Bundibugyo.  Way too many books, a few pans, our favorite dishes, electronics, kitengis, games, a quilt, tools, tents, Christmas decorations and Easter baskets.  And books.  We unpacked them into stacks all over the empty floor, and slowly sorted and put what we could into the few closets here.  Then Saturday Scott went into Nairobi once again, and sent back two small chests of drawers and two chairs.  Furniture!  Then he returned with the curtains we had ordered, and Caleb and Julia painstakingly attached them to the drapery hooks at every window.  Privacy!  Color!  

Saturday evening the long-anticipated six beds and two couches came, Africa-style, on the back of a little white pick-up truck.  Not exactly what we had in mind when we paid for the transport . . . especially since the light-colored upholstery was left exposed to the dust of the road, and marred by the filthy ropes used to tie it down.  It seems that these couches are my thorn.  Because I really like them in spite of all the hassle, they look a LOT better than the fabric sample made me believe, so I have to keep being reminded not to put my heart on them too much.  Today the little truck returned with the dining table and 8 chairs.  By the end of next week we're hopeful for three simple desks (tables really) and two bookshelves.  

So there you have it. With all the creative pottery (Luke) and woodwork (Caleb) displayed on our one shelf, with our throw pillows (team via Karen as we departed), with sheets and pillows and even two blankets (it is COLD at night, the first night we were shivering and broke out the sleeping bags from our camping supplies), with places now to sit and eat, this place looks like a home at last.  

A closing story on God's provisions.  When I unpacked the trunks Thursday, I realized that though I had three pans and a skillet, I had not one utensil with which to stir.  I was seriously regretting leaving so much behind.  Then Kimberly our fellow-WHM missionary texted that she was coming to the dentist at Kijabe and offered to bring something, so I asked her to pick up a spoon, whisk, and spatula, which she graciously did.  I mentioned this Friday afternoon to one of the short-term visiting doctors from New York, and he brightened up.  Come by our place, he said, our church had a "kitchen shower" for the missionaries and we brought an entire suitcase of kitchen supplies.  Coincidence?  I think not.  I did not need to be asked twice . . within and hour I was knocking on their door.  I could have almost cried when Elaine gave me two bright aprons, brand new dish towels, measuring cups and spoons, a few more utensils, a couple sharp knives AND a sharpener, even a vegetable peeler and a pastry cutter.  Many of the things I left behind, being given back to me new and spiff and free.  It's the kind of small detail that God delights in working out, to remind us of His intricate mercies.

Today feels like a corner turning, the end of leaving (Bundibugyo, team, our normal life, our HMA) and the beginning of being present in this place where we've been moved.