Another year has come and gone.  All of us are a little older and hopefully somewhat wiser in this journey we call life.  The events of this last year have brought many of us to a place of awareness that the life we have is a most precious commodity, never to be taken for granted, but appreciated, celebrated and seen as a gift that has been given to us to enjoy.  Yet, this journey of ours is also a struggle, a climb up a hill, called life, where we find many obstacles along the way.  Obstacles that are overwhelming, causing us to retreat into a survival mode where we miss the joy of living in this world of ours.

Back in 1997, I was leaving Kigali, Rwanda during the early morning hours for Kampala, Uganda.  I walked out toward my truck, still darkness all around me.  The gates of the luxurious house where I had stayed were opened by a sleepy guard, his rifle slung over his shoulder and I was on my way down the lane, toward the main roundabout where there was little activity at that time of the morning.  As I passed by the Taxi – Bus Park I could see some drivers checking out their vehicles for the day’s journey.  I pulled into a gas station and had my Toyota Hilux filled to the brim for the long journey ahead of me.  There was an inner sadness to this trip, since I realized it would be my last one for some time to come.  I was returning to the USA in a few days and leaving Africa behind.

My truck moved slowly through the outskirts of Kigali toward the border with Uganda, soon I was headed into the mountains that make Rwanda so beautiful and also a habitat for the few remaining Gorillas in the wild.  The sun slowly rose in the east.  I caught its greeting through the trees that covered the mountains and hills in front of me.  It was one of the few times in Africa when I actually turned on my car-heater. The mountains of Rwanda get a bit chilly during the night and without the warming rays of the sun one gets cold. 

The beauty of the scenery around me, touched me, causing me to slow down, absorbing it all.  Ahead, were the tea fields in the valleys, above, terraced mountainsides where farmers would soon be headed for, tilling their fields providing food and income for their families.

I reached the border crossing at 7 am and discovered that it was still closed, padlocked until 8 am opening ceremony.  There I was, another one of those hurry up and wait events one gets used to in Africa.  I parked my vehicle and took a stroll, all around me were truck drivers from all every part of Africa, waiting and hoping that the border would open up on time.

During my stroll, I noticed a path up the side of a hill, which I proceeded to take, not knowing where I would end up, but wanting to kill some time.  The path wound by some houses where the early morning fires had already been lit to prepare breakfast. A young boy crossed my path with a jerrican on his head making his way back home from the watering hole near his house.  Here and there, voices drifted out of the huts and people looked at this Westerner taking a stroll in the most unlikely of places.

My path became steeper, winding up into the terraced hillsides.  I had not counted on taking a serious hike this early in the morning, but serious it became causing me to think, that it might be best to forget it and just head back.  The other part of me wanted to go up to the top.  I could see it, but it was still in the distance and it seemed like it might be more than what I wanted to do for an early morning stroll.  After all the view was great from here and why did I have to climb to the top, only to head back down again.  My body began to feel the steep path, muscles were stretched, my lungs enlarged and it was becoming a most tedious, unplanned adventure.  There was however this inner desire to do it, after all I would be leaving soon and I had not climbed a terraced mountain in Rwanda, so why not?  The temptation to quit kept coming back, especially as I looked toward the top and saw that it was still in the distance and my gains had been small compared to what remained.  Life is like that, we see the goal in the distance and we desire it, but the distance and obstacles are overwhelming, so we simply give up, we turn around and go back to our comfort zones called the rut of daily living, which are nothing but graves with the ends knocked out. 

I began to look for landmarks ahead of me, such as a small shack, a tree, a rock and went for them, they were easier to measure, easier to reach, then the looming top of the mountain.  Before I realized it I had reached my goal.  The rewards were simply stunning.  Below me terraced fields, valleys lush with tea, a slight early morning haze over the mountains below me, the African Sun in front of me, almost reachable.  I sat there drinking it all into my spirit, I thought how I had almost given up and turned around.  I would have missed the wonder of it all, the wonder of nature, and the wonder of Africa, of the sun, mountains, and valleys creating a tapestry of immeasurable beauty.

The walk down was much easier and of course only half the time.  I smiled at the farmers who were walking up the hillside, hoes in hand, toward their fields.  They must still be wondering what this crazy white man was dong on their hill that day, they will never know that I learned some lessons in endurance, of not quitting, of keeping onward in spite of it all.

Today as I write this, a few years have come and gone.  It is the beginning of a New Year, 2002, and it was good to remind myself of what it is all about – this climb – called “my life.”  I had forgotten some of the lessons learned on that day in Rwanda.  I had returned to the rut of the daily grind, of doing, doing, losing sight of the goals that had been placed into my heart. 

The good news is, it is never too late, there is time to do things, to climb, to experience, to live.  Some years ago I read a book that deeply influenced my life.  It was entitled “Dancing at my Funeral.”   The author spoke of the fact that there were two kinds of people in life –“Feasters and Fasters,” the feaster had the ability to celebrate most anything, he would dance even on the way to his funeral, he would dance in spite of death celebrating the life that he had been given, the faster on the other hand would walk through life as a cynic, a sour look on his face, whining about missing this or that, how life had dealt him a bad set of cards and now he was stuck with them.  He would see the mountaintop and simply give up, while the other; the feaster would celebrate the event and dance up the hill. 

In 2002, I am choosing to fast at times, not in the old ways, but denying myself some things which might be ok, but are not the best for me, mostly I am going to dance up the hillside of life, reaching the top and enjoying the view, the internal dance, celebrating, reaching the goals that long ago have been put into my heart…. Happy New Year…jon