I was given a new lease on life this morning. Sleep should be classified as a miracle drug. Joy filled me as I woke up to a new day and watched sun light stream through the windows.
I’m learning to be. While I was in Gordon’s bay, Tom and Cindy (my amazing hosts) talked a lot about being with God, instead of focusing on doing for God. Today I’m excited to be, and let any doing flow out of that. Maybe later I’ll catch up on e-mails, Biggest Looser, Chuck… or maybe not.
After a slightly weird breakfast of pulled pork and Chai tea, my body was telling me it was dinnertime, the beach was calling. My legs were dying to be stretched and moved after a 45-hour travel marathon.
Warmth from the sun soaked through my jacked and the rhythmic pounding of the waves slowed my mind. Hope took over. The colors seemed brighter then they had ever been before, the light reflecting off the water was almost blinding, the waves seemed bigger and more full of life, the air more salty and invigorating. It’s absolutely amazing to be alive, truly fully alive. Africa awakens my soul, and allows me see this life with new eyes.
As I walked two women were holding the hands of a sweet toddler with huge black curls and beautiful tan skin. Every few steps they would pull up on her arms swinging her high off the ground. They let go of her hands, and with a shout of unadulterated joy she tried to run. For a few glorious steps she pounded her too large feet and flailed her arms before her legs fell behind her body and she crashed hard on her face. An apprehensive moment ensued as she decided if her injuries warranted a good cry. The woman next to her, swept her up, dusted the sand off her puffy pink pants and began throwing her into the air. At that point laughing made more sense than crying, so she laughed.
That’s how I feel right now, like I’m being picked up and invited into laughter. I know I’ve fallen and God has swept me up. The joy of running, of living full out, is worth the risk of crashing. There is something about experiencing death that makes the beauty stronger, more evocative and brilliant.
As I walked my legs were tingling and itching, which was glorious after a two-day lack of movement and loss of circulation. They itched so bad it was almost painful, but still felt amazing.
A girl at that awkward pre teen age, not quite a child, but still miraculously possessing youthful innocence, ran by me. Her long blond hair fell wavy down her past her shoulders as she tilted her head back drinking in the sunlight. I watched her as I arrived at my turn around point where a lagoon empties into the ocean. One foot deep and 10 feet wide, I didn’t even consider getting my shoes wet and walking further. She didn’t consider stopping. Delightedly she stomped through the water, splashing above her head, and watching the light reflect off the cool drops.
As I continued walking I came across two elderly men, and one beautifully wrinkled woman, holding a umbrella to block the sun. The men wore veteran’s caps on their white hair, and shorts high on the waist. Their sturdy, weathered legs reminded me of my grandpa’s when he was alive. Every couple of steps they stooped over to pick up trash washed up by the recent storm. I stopped and told them thanks. The woman responded, “You can put some pieces in my bag.” So I grabbed a plastic lid and added it to the already full sack. They were doing their part.
Over the last few days I’ve realized, life is not about making a movement, doing great things, or building something huge. Life is 
about God and people, loving God and loving people. All I need to do is my part, my piece, and trust that others will do the same. As I sucked in a deep breath hope for Nsoko filled my spirit. Each person has a part to play, a small piece and God will work those pieces together.
My mind drifts back to Dudu, dying at 26, loosing the battle against AIDS, too week to hold her baby. She’s dying and she is one year younger then I am. Dudu shakes and can no longer walk, coughing wracks her frail body, the TB will most likely take her soon. I got to hold her dry, clammy hand during church a few weeks ago. I also got to hold her cough soaked towel as she hacked into it.
Dudu is dying and I am alive. Experiencing death and dying causes me to embrace life in a new way. Christ says that we all must die to our selves to be fully alive. That parable has a new meaning to me. Life has new meaning.
I finally plop down on the sand. The itching in my legs gets even more intense and powerful. For me, this whole trip was like a rush of circulation, the lifeblood is moving. Something new and strong is pulsating; pushing it’s way through in an increased desire to live what God has planned for me. I’m alive, truly fully alive, and it’s glorious!
