Palm Sunday, the day Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, victorious for the moment. We feel anything but. It’s one of those still, hot, sticky days when the cold showers feel amazing and filtered fridge water tastes better than anything else. David has just driven up the road to grab what we hope will be the last load out of the old house; dishes, just washed, clothes still on the line, pictures off the walls. We’re tired, disorganized and a little disillusioned with ourselves.

Casey, the Christ School dog, lies in our doorway waiting hopefully for scraps, which are abundant as Naomi and Quinn eat and Eat and EAT these days (that’s a huge answer to prayer from last year!) Out front, the Senior 1 (s1) girls, freshman at our school, play football in a semi-organized match. Julia joins them, her cleats standing out among the bare feet more than her white skin does. There are screams, cheers, and falling-on-the-ground-after-a-kick dramatics. These are just teenage girls.

Nearby on the Christ School track, another group of girls jumps rope together with a long piece they have saved for this time. Boy have gathered to watch football and jump roping and the impromptu volleyball game that has sprung up - well, really just to watch the girls. These are are just teenage boys.

Our yard, just before the field, is full of staff kids; Ingrid and Benjamin, Bethany and Muruungi, Shalot and Prince. They are kicking balls, riding bikes and using whatever else they’ve found on the porch . . . . . .

Staff wander around casually on-campus, dressed in weekend casual clothes, enjoying a day off and the joy of their students, unsupervised. For staff, this is their home; their babies play here, they share apartments or dorms, they eat together, talk together, play together, gripe together. Romances spring up and flirtations, baby holders join families to allow mom and dad the freedom to teach or work at the local clinic.

This is our new home, our new community. Though I’ve been totally pre-occupied with the still-not-dry kitchen counter and cabinets in my home, with my trouble getting water to flow and with my stove on a slanting floor allowing morning scrambled eggs to slide right off onto the floor; I notice the many differences of this new place. Night sounds are different, we are close enough to our glass-shard-topped cement wall to almost-hear conversations around the cooking fires in the town of Nyahuka. Instead of the night sounds of animals in the river beds, we hear the town sounds; discos and drunken men. We wake to the smell of night jasmine rather than the gardenias of our old home. Morning devotions naturally happen on the porch, as the school wakens and the first students hit the track for their morning run.

This week promises to be very difficult. We are letting two workers go, hiring a new one and starting to train her, finalizing the close-up of the old house, trying to make this one livable and heading into an intense Easter weekend and team planning time. I must admit that I feel each meal time is an act of faith for me right now; with no counters and cabinets, a barely functioning sink; stove on the slant and just-cooling fridge. With my kitchen things in basins on the floor and my food boxed in trunks because the shelving to hold it has fallen down. With no workers to wash dishes or shop at the market. Yet God provides every time; mostly through our amazing team. Jennifer, single this week as Scott is just returning from an important meeting, made us donuts and coffee this morning - yes, from scratch. Michael cooked us quesadillas yesterday and Karen fed us her home-ground pork with rice casserole. We are taken care of - now I just need to work on the faith bit.