Adventures in Kenya, Part 1: Nairobi

It has been exactly 1 week since returning from my latest trip to Kenya. 1 week to kick jet lag to the curb, resume my "normal" circadian rhythm, and process the most recent chapter in pursuing my dreams. **No big deal**

In church circles, we like to talk about things like "Vision" and "Leaving a Legacy" and other grand pursuits. This isn't such a bad thing, if you can absorb it and apply it without becoming pompous and judgemental. When you actually do believe that God has created you with gifts, talents, and a purpose beyond only seeking your personal pleasure, it can be the impetus for doing some pretty great things with your life and enjoying yourself in the process. Helping others, caring about people from all walks of life, becoming a champion for causes that touch your heart- not a bad thing at all. But far too often, our church huddles and pep talks about visioneering and legacy-leaving don't push us past our fears of looking like a complete weirdo. So we get excited, take a few tentative steps forward, and then return to the hamster wheel of same old same.

In October 2011 when my BFF and I launched our small business together, I have to admit that I was totally high. Not on substances (20 years clean, baby!) but on the possibilities that lie in front of me. It was an adrenaline rush like no other, and I was dizzy with excitement. I still am! For all of the years that I've worked in Non-Profit and travelled the world for ministry and missions, I felt I was truly stepping into an arena of faith that my soul was desperately craving. Finally, my years of dream-chasing were beginning to take the shape of a lifework I could actually be proud of. And so what if I look like a complete weirdo? That isn't exactly new territory, so bring it.

OK, so back to the Kenya trip: Our purpose for this visit was very specific. We planned to work alongside one of our partners, visiting a work site in the Nairobi slums and sharing ideas on new products, efficient shipping practices, and spending time visiting and encouraging the amazing ladies that we had met earlier this year. I had been in touch with our in-country contacts for months in advance and had arranged our airport pick-up, lodging, and itinerary for the short week that we would be there. Dates and times were shared. Logistics confirmed. Everything was set up, and we were SO excited to begin this part of our small business journey. Two days of air travel from Los Angeles to Amsterdam to Nairobi, crossing multiple time zones, stuffed into cramped seats for an inhumane length of time- not to mention the expense of travelling even in Economy Class- we were ready, and beyond excited! And that's when things got weird.

We arrived at the airport in Nairobi just before 6am, relieved to be out of the flying tin can and on terra firma. Baggage collected and piled up onto the trolley, the two of us standing out about as much as two white girls in Africa possibly can, we stepped out into the arrivals lobby and waited for our driver, holding up our sign and smiling like pageant contestants. And we waited. And waited. Knowing that Nairobi traffic can be horrendous, we didn't get too freaked out when 30 minutes turned into 45, and no driver had appeared to collect us. I called the lodge manager, a friend whom I've known for nearly a decade, and was happy to hear his familiar voice: "Michelle! Are you here?" Yes! We are here! "OK- the driver is nearby. Just a minute. OK he will be there soon." Great! Can't wait to see you! "Ha Ha, OK see you soon." Another 20 minutes, and there was our driver. We piled into the small car, grateful that all of our large luggage fit into the trunk space and spare seat. As we were riding to the lodge, watching the sunrise bathe the Kenyan countryside in a golden glow, disturbing pieces of the story began to be revealed by our driver. As it turns out, the people that we had flown thousands of miles to see were out of town and would be gone for the next 3-4 days. We would only be in Kenya for 6, and one of the days was promised to friends in Masii- 2 hours away from the Nairobi area. We were lucky that our driver was near the airport at the time I placed the call, because he had just dropped off someone and was heading back to the lodge when he got the call to turn around and come pick us up. Arriving at the lodge, we were grateful that a guest room was still available. We took some light breakfast, where we learned that the main person we had expected to meet with actually had no intention of seeing us and was leaving the country. Dumbfounded, we went inside our room to stretch out, talk through our confusion and disappointment, and figure out next steps. After calming down and assuring each other that God indeed had something else planned, we went into the office and met with my friend to ask what had happened regarding our arrangements. He admitted that yes, we had agreed and confirmed the date and time of our arrival a month prior; yet somehow there was confusion about the exact day, and so he hadn't made our arrival known to the people we were expecting to meet with. Stunned, I asked why he hadn't contacted me if he had been unclear. He responded that he had, in fact, sent me an email... when we were 35,000 feet in the air, on the day before we would be arriving. If I had been stunned before this revelation, I now felt as if I had been punched in the face with a Sherman tank. Nothing made sense. It was one of those cosmic WTF moments, to be sure. Are You There God? It's Me, and I'm Pissed! Angry, confused, crushed, humiliated, you name it- we were suddenly facing the reality that our plans had gone completely to dust, and there was nothing we could do to fix them.

We returned to our room, ranted, cried, and prayed. We figured out that we had 3 choices: 1) Book a safari, forget about work, and leave the lodge; 2) Book a return flight to Los Angeles and leave the lodge; or 3) Contact our friends down in Masii, ask if we could come sooner than expected, and leave the lodge. In any case, we clearly needed to leave the lodge where, for the first time ever, we felt unwelcome and intrusive. I sent an email to our friends in Masii explaining that we were in some trouble, and asked if it was possible to come down to visit them today. Within minutes, I received the response that they would be coming right away to bring us home with them, and that they were delighted to see us sooner than expected. The wave of love that washed over me in that instant was unbelievable.

We had planned to set up channels for our work in Masii sometime in the future, maybe 3-5 years down the road. We have loved Masii since Day 1, and had dreamed of bringing the kind of community development and economic change there among the people who had held our hearts dearly. In our minds, the prudent thing to do was to continue working with the existing sites in the Nairobi slums, build a model from that, modify it and eventually apply it in the more rural context of Masii. On this day, however, we were overcome by the matchless strength of God's timing and will.

NEXT: Adventures in Kenya, Part 2- Masii

Very Superstitious

Friday the 13th! For many, Friday the Thirteenth has been considered to be the luckiest of days, for better or worse. Wikipedia, that bastion of reputable information, has some tidbits of data you may or may not find interesting on the subject

In any case, I find the whole notion of superstitions fascinating. I love the weirdness and quirkiness of people, and it's in our superstitions that this weirdness is often most interestingly displayed. Doesn't matter how educated and logical we may be- how many of us have "knocked on wood" at some point to counter the effects of some bad juju? I do it all the time, just in case. Lucky socks, underwear, hats, shirts, dresses, sweaters, etc. line the closets and drawers of sports fans and athletes around the world. And let's not forget the awesome weirdness of treasured objects held throughout the years by rich and poor alike, including four-leafed clovers, found pennies (heads up only), horseshoes, or a rabbit's foot. Obviously not too lucky for the rabbit.


Specific pre-performance traditions abound in the worlds of art & entertainment, sports, and organized religion, to name a few. I would submit that 'superstition and 'tradition' are just two sides of the same freaky coin, and pity the fool who doesn't hold on to it.

By placing the outcome of any given situation in the hands of Fate, a carefully choreographed pregame routine, or some inanimate object; by giving even the slightest credit to petulant forces beyond our control, somehow makes our lives a bit more interesting and dramatic while diverting at least some responsibility away from us (or our favorite team, love interest, whatever) if things don't end up happening the way we might prefer. It's really only a problem when we get so enmeshed in our superstitions/traditions/routines that we become unable to function without them, when we morph from being lovably quirky to paralyzingly phobic. Example: Holding my cowbell with my right hand only during hockey games, lanyard carefully wrapped around my hand? Lovably Quirky. Driving all the way back home to fetch said cowbell and missing the first period as a result? Time for an intervention. (For the record, this never happened, and we will not speak of it again.)

My Mom, God rest her soul, was very superstitious. She found a way to weave good luck/bad luck throughout our everyday lives. The way her face would light up with delight whenever she saw a penny lying on the ground, bending down to pick it up and giggling like a little girl as she would place it face up in my palm, or how she would always save the wishbone for us when she cooked a chicken, or the way she would call out "Hey! Let's make a wish!" everytime she would see a truck carrying bales of hay down the road... it was truly magical. Sometimes I would just shake my head, frowning at her silly superstitions, trying so much to gain my super-logical father's approval; how I wish I could go back and cherish her silliness instead. Seems only fitting that when she died, it was on Friday the 13th. So, my biggest superstition is to remember her every Friday the 13th, not just on the anniversary of her passing. Pretty sure that today my Mom is giggling in heaven, counting rainbows and breaking wishbones with Jesus and trying to score a four-leafed clover for good luck.

Another Day, or Something More?

What would you be willing to give up in order to gain something that you truly value?

Today is Ash Wednesday, and Christians around the globe- particularly those from a Catholic persuasion- are marking this as the first day of Lent. It is traditionally a time where the observer "fasts" or gives up something for the 40 day period leading up to Easter as an act of spiritual cleansing or religious obedience. It is a practice that has been observed for centuries, for better or worse.

But what about people who are not Catholic, Christian, or even religious? For many, such an observance might seem like nonsense at best and self-aggrandizing, martyr-esque deprivation at worst. But what if it is actually something more- what if it is an opportunity for personal growth, spiritual renewal, and positive change? Just as Mother Nature uses this season to renew and recharge and the earth experiences a sort of rebirth with the coming of Spring, so can we. We can absolutely use the period of Lent as a springboard for renewal in our own lives.

Now, I'm not Catholic, but I was wrestling for the past week with what I would like to give up for Lent this year: Red meat? Alcohol? The F-word? I wanted to be intentional about it, not just pick something random and hope it stuck. I also didn't want to just give up something just to say I did it. Where's the added value in that? For me, it really comes down to a question of what I want to gain- spiritually, physically, or emotionally- not what I want to give up.

Should be an interesting 40 days.

Broken Sex, Love, and Intimacy

A few weeks after returning home from my latest trip to Africa, I'm still wrestling with and pondering over lessons learned and issues brought to bear. The long days spent trekking up Mt. Kilimanjaro provided the perfect backdrop for exploring deep thoughts and sharing cerebral conversations with new and renewed friends, along with plenty of joking around and bonding moments to lighten the mood and distract from the physical pain being experienced. During the toughest stretches though, some nagging thoughts came to the surface, life questions, soul searching inquiries that I suspect will rattle around in my head for a while longer before I decide to actually deal with them.

The one thing that crept up out of nowhere and surprised me, the area of my life that I wanted to believe was in check, is sex. Not that I was having any on this trip!

Sex, or rather, my sexual identity, and how I have come to view sex and actualize it in my life, was staring me in the face after sharing my testimony during one long, rocky stretch of road. And I absolutely hated what I saw.

For as far back as I can remember, I have always identified myself according to sexuality- more precisely, the sexuality of females as defined by American pop culture, i.e., an object of desire. Even as a young girl, I loved Mae West, Marilyn Monroe, Playboy Bunnies and Farrah Fawcett. I wanted so badly to "be sexy" and have the attention [read: power] that these women seemed to possess. I have a distinct memory of a family gathering in my parent's house, aunts and uncles, cousins, and I was of course trying to be the center of attention (oh, surprise!). When asked by one of the adults, "Michelle, what do you want to be when you grow up?" my response stunned and shocked them: "I want to be a SEX SYMBOL!" ::lone cricket chirping:: I was maybe 6 or 7 years old. When asked if I even knew what that meant (I didn't) I replied, "Sex Symbols are the most beautiful women in the world and everybody loves them!" After some uncomfortable laughter, I was promptly excused from the adults and allowed to go back to my room.

Funny story if it ended there, but it doesn't. My faulty equation of Sex=Love was just getting started! Add over the next ten or so years a creepy neighbor who liked to fondle little girls, older boys who liked to play doctor, innappropriate contact from leaders at church camps, repeated sexual molestation from a relative, and wanting to be one of the popular girls (but never quite being one) and you have one very broken young girl with a distorted picture of love.

I did my best to hold on to my "virginity" throughout high school, and really didn't go all the way until I was in college- but I was already what you might call damaged goods. And I knew it. I felt dirty, unworthy and unloveable from the inside, and no matter how much or how little I gave of myself, love just wasn't becoming part of my story. Not the love that I believed in, anyway. Not the pure, deep, lasting kind that fuels fairy tales and romance novels. Not even the supernatural, all-forgiving kind that is preached from the pulpits. Somehow, all I was finding was the broken and twisted kind, the leftover kind. The other stuff might exist, but I was exempt from receiving it.

But sex, now THAT was something that I was good at and could find easily- NO PROBLEM! Never mind that all the greatest sex in the world couldn't heal my broken heart. Never mind that even the great loves of my life would still leave me shattered and empty, always coming back to the same questions: What's wrong with me? Why don't you want me?

Through my adult life, I've tried to find the answer to those two questions. I searched through bad, bad relationships. I searched through drugs, alcohol, and partying. I searched through spirituality and religion. I searched and came up empty, time and time again. Even after coming to Christ, and gratefully accepting the gift of God's grace, if I am honest I can say that I still had the questions of my worth and my desirability as constant companions. And if I am really honest, then I can say that sometimes my religious convictions and my actions just don't align at all. Because as much as I fight to ignore it, I still get crazy lonely sometimes. I still want to someday know what it feels like to be deeply, truly, beautifully loved... but I settle for good sex and temporary intimacy, because my heart is scarred and my understanding of love is still a little bit broken.

It was this realization that led me to renew my vow of celibacy upon returning from Africa. Total clarity, a bird's eye view of my pattern, madness, call it what you will... but I know that this is the right thing for me to do. Until I can get what is broken in me repaired, there is absolutely no sense in creating more damage.

I don't know exactly what the next step is- Therapy? Prayer? More hockey? And I don't know if I'm supposed to put some sort of timeline on this. But what I do know is that I may not have had control over the things that happened to me as a child, but I do have control now. And I'm finally on the right path.

Update: Back in Cali

For the past 2 weeks, I embarked on the adventure of a lifetime!

I can say honestly that this was the hardest (physical) thing I've ever done in my life. The months of intense training and excitement could not possibly have prepared me for the challenge that I faced. Along with 26 other amazingly passionate and slightly insane trekkers, we were on a mission to raise $100,000 and climb Mt. Kilimanjaro- the tallest mountain in all of Africa.

I made it to all three of the hut encampments: Mandara (Day 1), Horombo (Day 2), and Kibo (Day 4). I wish I could tell you that I made it to the summit... but I didn't. But I tried, and even though I was sick on the summit day hike (I will spare you the gory details) I gave it my all, and I got really far- but of the 27 people on our team who started the 6-day climb, only 17 reached the summit and sadly, I was not among them. In the pitch dark and cold, I turned back after reaching just past the halfway point of the first peak during final ascent, unable to complete the segment. Imagine my heartbreak and disappointment. Kili humbled me!

Nonetheless, I am proud of what I was able to do and more importantly, what we were able to do as a team: raise desperately needed funds for Tumaini International Ministries to benefit AIDS orphaned kids and build community in Kenya, East Africa! At last count, we had raised about $85,000 of the $100,000 goal!

The 17 men and women on our team who did reach the summit of Uhuru Peak are superstars in every way. I am in awe, and have nothing but the greatest respect for each one. However, I also have the greatest respect for everyone who stepped out of their comfort zone and onto that mountain- whether they made it to the top or not. Without question, every one of us had to dig down deep and find the strength and courage to do something ridiculous, personally challenging, and sacrificial. And because of the kids and families we were doing it for, it was totally, unequivocally worth every torturous minute.

Back in SoCal and the comforts of home, I'm slowly recovering from the grueling travel schedule, jet lag, and beat-down that Kili gave me. My face, which was grossly disfigured from swelling, blisters, and sun/windburn, has returned to almost normal. The swelling on my feet is almost gone, along with the blisters, and the toenail that I'm about to lose will surely grow back in due time. And yes, given the opportunity, I would absolutely try again to reach that stinkin' summit and make Kilimanjaro my footstool... you win this time, Kili... but watch out, I may be back.

There is much and more that I still need to process from all I experienced in the last two weeks. So many things came to the surface that I want to, need to, deal with... good things, ugly things, lots of things. But for right now, for this moment, I'm content and grateful to be home and richer for the experience.

The Great Unknown

It's not unnatural to be apprehensive, even fearful, of the unknown.

In general, I like to have at least a vague idea of what to expect, especially when facing a new situation. If I'm being completely honest, then I can say my default mode is that I prefer to be in control and mentally prepared for several possible outcomes in any given situation, and I can get more than a little freaked out when things aren't going according to The Plan.

Looking back at how high-strung and tightly-wound I was in years past, it's no wonder that this need to be in control has caused more harm than good-- both to myself and to friends and loved ones. Nobody really likes to be bossed around. Nobody likes to feel that they are less capable than the know-it-all, my-way-or-the-highway, I'm-in-charge-here person that colored the better part of my adult life. I had prided myself on being a tough, scrappy girl, someone who fought hard to get out from under oppression to become a strong leader, in control of my own life. And that's true, but... being in control of my own life doesn't crown me the queen of anyone else's life. That isn't being a leader, that's called being a tyrant. I recognize this now, and only wish I had seen it clearly years ago.

I'm not quite there yet, but I've worked very hard at teaching myself to relax more and go with the flow, find more Zen in my day-to-day, embrace change and spontaneity, and surrender control and outcomes to the universal higher power I understand as God. It's not easy, until it is. And as a result I can say with conviction that every single time I relax my grip on whatever situation or circumstance I'm faced with, it is the right move. Everything works out, even if it isn't the outcome I had expected, anticipated, or even desired. There is always something good that comes from it! When I do the opposite, when I decide that it's totally up to me to steer and direct and control every aspect of every situation, guess what? I become a hot mess. A stressed-out, frazzled, short-tempered mess. Not exactly the attractive qualities that I was going for!

All of this to say that I'm finally starting to enjoy the unexpected. Sure, I still like to make plans and I like to be organized and prepared. I still battle with anxiety when I plan events, wanting everything to be perfect. I don't profess to just float along through life aimlessly, seeing where the tide will take me if I don't put any effort into it. But I'm really learning to welcome and embrace the adventure that makes life so very exciting... the unscripted, the improvised, The Great Unknown.

The Value of a Broken Heart

Sometimes, I do really dumb things... like, fall for a guy that I have absolutely no business falling for. To date, that has never worked out well for me. You'd think I would learn from experience, but, No. Somehow, just as soon as enough time passes between MLM's (My Last Mistake) my silly little heart is right back out there, smiling and vulnerable, just asking to get stomped on. Tsk, tsk. My brain is smart, but my heart... DUMB.

My latest romantic adventure -- wait for it-- ended badly. And I cried, felt embarassed, and was hurt and humiliated for a couple of days. Sucks, right? Of course it does. But here's where the value comes in: After the initial feelings of uber-lameness and heartbreak started to wane, I let my [smart] brain go to work and process the pain, to somehow try to find the redemptive value. And that's when it hit me: Heartbreak is the mother of Compassion. Or at least, it can be, if we choose it.

During the very darkest moments of feeling like a complete ass, a dear friend called and spoke truth to me. She reminded me of my own worth and value, didn't judge or ridicule me, and just showed incredible kindness and compassion to me. She even made me laugh... a lot, actually. She didn't have to; she chose to.

Having your heart broken is never "fun" but it is not without great value. Out of broken hearts are born compelling works of art, socio-political movements, awareness campaigns, and paradigm shifts. People far greater than me have taken their personal pain and allowed God to use it for incredible good in the world through ministries of compassion. Even Jesus himself had compassion on the people he encountered, because seeing them in their sin and misery broke his own heart.

I'm no Jesus, and I don't think that my last experience is on a comparable scale to something that would spark a global movement, but I do believe that by remembering the physical and emotional pain associated with heartbreak of any kind should move a person from selfishness to compassion. The internal becomes external. The healing that is taking place within me can be used to help heal someone else from their pain. Kinda deep and mysterious and cool to think about, and I'm excited to see what good comes out of it. Because trust me, boys aside, there are many things in this world that break my heart. This painful reminder is just a catalyst to push me out into it, armed with love for the people on my path.