These are the Chyulu Hills in southeastern Kenya. They contain caves where, during the Mau Mau rebellion, guerrilla fighters hid from the British. Now, during the day, they contain the elephants that we hoped to see during our stay at Umani Springs. As they only come to the camp area at night, we did not see the elephants.  Yet we did see photos taken by a motion sensor camera. These showed that at 3:45 am on June 23 a massive bull elephant (with big tusks) was no more than 100 yards from the camp.  So close...yet so dark at night.

But back to the hills. On our walk through the surrounding landscape I stopped and began to contemplate my life as I took in the view.  When I do this I inevitably come back to my fear of loss and the anxiety that this brings. Eventually, I find that the beautiful surrounding is not congruent with my mood. It is as if I am staring at something lovely through a haze. I see a lovely vista with all of my fears imprinted on it. It sucks.

But something new happened this time. As I looked at the hills full of history, pain, and the elusive elephants, I realized that my fears and anxieties are really a series of intense questions that only the Bible is able to answer:

How can I move forward with joy knowing one day I will lose someone I love? They will die and I will not be able to see them, talk to them, listen to them. This is not a dramatic statement, but as factual as saying two and two is four. Saying it is better not to think about these things only postpones the moment when one is forced to deal with them.

How do I deal with the speed of life? I was 10 the other day and now one of my nieces is nearing the same age.

Where do I go when I am being overrun with fear, when I am realizing that nothing I can see is infinite? It is like thinking the ground is solidly firm...and then the earthquake begins and there is nowhere one can go to escape. You can only wait to see what happens.

Only the Bible I am finding can answer these questions. And I felt better and the Chyulu Hills came into focus. And then the voice of a Congolese man I met last week came into my mind. A politician in DRC, this man had seen death, exile, and poverty.  He was panicking when he arrived in Nairobi because he and his family had no food and he had to make a plan at the same time he had to listen to his children crying about their tummys. He had lived through terrible things.

Yet he said, "Does God not see the killer coming to commit the murder? Does God not see the wasting disease making its way through the body? Does God not see the car coming around the corner and the child it is going to strike? He sees it all. Everything is in his hands."  The hills became even clearer and my mind felt peace. Everything is in his hands.  And what happens happens, and that is okay. Because in his hands there is a time for everything.

Here is another shot of the hills.