The past few days, the weather here at Kijabe has been a fairly accurate reflection of my moods:
- Thunder rumbles overhead, both distant and near, as storms brew, clouds roiling, rushing over the top of the hill, dark and gloomy, blotting out any chance of sun. My emotions simmer and churn like the storms, sometimes far beneath the surface, other times much nearer, a chaotic swirl of muddled thoughts and feelings – sorrow for all that is lost, relief that our students are safe with their families, uncertainty about the future, nervous excitement as the online term begins.
- Lightning flashes across the valley, brilliantly silhouetting towering tiers of clouds – even in the turmoil, beauty and light abound. A perfect rose outside my window, draped in raindrops; the chitter of colobus monkeys on a roof, fluffy white tails bouncing as they play; a breathtaking flash of scarlet against sapphire as a turaco takes flight. But sometimes the lightning strikes so close that my hair stands on end, the crack of thunder coming almost simultaneously, like the snap of a thoughtless word, the burst of anger lashing out.
- Fog rolls in, damp, dismal, blanketing the campus in soggy white, like the weariness that has settled deep in my bones, clouding the view, skewing my perspective. The deep banks of cloud make it hard to hear anything but my own heartbeat and the breaths that come too fast, full of fear. Yet the stillness can be peaceful –the world beyond this heartbeat, these next few steps, blotted out, as my vision narrows to only the present. I am here, now, where I am meant to be, and every heartbeat reminds me that I am not alone.
- Seemingly endless rain drips from a gray and dreary sky – or pours from blue-black clouds – or deluges so hard you cannot tell what color the sky is – or if there is even still a sky at all. Deafening, it crashes on corrugated iron roofs, racing in rivulets down red-dirt roads, an unstoppable torrent – like the bottomless well of tears that spring from within me when I least expect them, and stay far longer than they are welcome.
We joke that it always rains on Arrival Weekend, and, true to form, it’s chucking down now. This time, though, I think the weather is a much more accurate reflection of our emotions than it usually is. Normally, there is excitement – rumbling buses, welcoming shouts, warm hugs, joyful reunions, students stopping by for a cup of tea and a catch-up chat. Usually, there is anticipation – of high school drama, Junior Store, rugby season, Band Tour, the seventh grade trip to Hell’s Gate, Alumni Weekend, Senior Safari, graduation – plus all the day-to-day adventures and memories we make in classes, at Caring Community and Class Nights, during rehearsals, in the dorm, over dinner or tea on Sunday afternoons. Frequently, there is a sigh of relief – we have done this before; I know this dorm, this room; here’s my locker; there’s that hoodie I thought I’d lost; I remember that always makes you laugh. The campus fills with familiar faces, the sounds of hundreds of students, high-fives and “hey there’s” and “how was…?” and hugs. Often, there are still tears – but they are mingled, bittersweet, a mix of “I’m going to miss you” and “I can’t wait for what’s to come” – at least for many.
This Arrival Weekend, the tears are just bitter, the ache of a thousand memories we thought were ours that now will never be. The mournful silence of a campus full of empty homes, empty dorms, empty fields, empty arms.
I know that God is Sovereign. I know that He uses everything for His glory. I know that we still have countless blessings to be thankful for, that our joy, ultimately, eternally, outweighs all sorrow. I know that this did not catch Him unawares, that He saw long ago how empty our campus would be, how empty our hearts would feel. But today, as remnants of the deluge drip from the eaves and the campus is shrouded in raindrops and silence, it seems appropriate weather for our grief.
