The sky turned black and the beach quickly disappeared, the waves now hiding it from view.  We felt a few drops and then, without reservation, the rain came.  We retreated deep into the shelters that lined our beach, yet the roofs made of tin and tarp were not up to the task and little waterfalls above us emerged every step or so.  Even so, the rain was relentless and in partnership with the wind, sheets of water drenched our bodies from a nearly horizontal angle.  Our clothes were heavy, as though trying to anchor our efforts to collect our belongings and importantly, our meal for that night.  Once the task was done, groups of two and three formed, huddling together for warmth and watching the storm in bewilderment.  Then, strangely, we entered the sea.

We were met head-on with the full force of nature, the waves hurtling us backwards and then quickly engulfing us.  Without pause, the next wave would come, stripping us of our anticipation.  Some linked arms to share the force of the blow; others preferred to submit alone to the raw force of the sea.  And the rain poured on.  The exercise was the same – face each wave and then glance back at each other with an intoxicated smile.  And perhaps to see if anyone was missing.  Then, things slowed down for me here.  The warm strings soothed upwards in crescendo and time moved to a standstill, capturing the memory of laughter and each exhilarated smile that day forever.

It was a glorious moment.  And it nearly erased from our minds the incident from earlier that week.  Two days ago, we were returning with the students from a nearly deserted beach that we laboured for two hours to reach, over rocks, seashells and even broken glass.  We had done it and now, with satisfaction and fatigue, we made our way back.  At the same time, the boys decided to kick the soccer ball back and forth on the beach.  The ball hit a woman – square on her side - sitting on the beach.  Without pause, she spewed her anger verbally in Khmai and then fumbled wildly in a box to retrieve a pair of scissors.  She attempted to stab the ball but it kept moving away.  As we drew near, a man aggressively pulled a large dagger from his body, crouched over the soccer ball, and stabbed it with one violent motion of finality.  It was a surreal moment for all of us.  We couldn`t believe our eyes.

On the way back to our beach, I watched as all the boys walked back alone and in silence.  One girl was crying as we walked back, consoled by Joyce.  Later, all the young boys were crying too.  It was a difficult moment for them.

But it was a beautiful one too.  They had just seen something so counter to the design of humanity, the way we were created to live.  Their response was raw and full of innocence; the uncontrollable tears of the children displayed a certain beauty and purity.  Later that night, the kids shared about the experience with crude honesty.  It was good for them to talk it out and it was a first-hand reminder of the destructiveness of violence and bitterness that not only impacted those present, but was far-reaching to the other kids and teachers.  Somehow, I have a feeling that the events of that afternoon must have lingered within the perpetrating family too.

          *                         *                         *

Every night, Joyce and I share our highest and lowest moments from the day.  They are both important and the events above have been another reminder of the value of this polarity of experiences.

The high points are typically the most memorable ones - the ones you live for and subsequently, become a touchstone for you, fuelling you for days and often, weeks.  These are the dance parties that emerge from an innocent dinner, the stunning panorama of the Himalayas that greet you after your first trek, the heart-warming feeling of watching 2-year old Corin “get” the concept of a tickle fight, and being immersed in both song and dance in a charismatic Indian church’s worship service.  These are the high points.  Sometimes, you even try to recreate these moments, but it’s never quite the same.  It’s a reminder of how special and unique these moments truly are. 

And then there are the low points.  The times of perseverance, the times when you question why you’re out here, and the moments of fear.  I’ve learned that these moments tend to be the most powerful.  They forge and shape the mould of your character.  They have the potential to bring you so much closer together.

As I end this post, it is written from a place of gratitude.  Every part of our trip has exceeded expectations and there have been a wealth of rich experiences along the way, both high and low.  The other day, Joyce and I were contemplating how we could fill our “excess” time in certain geographic regions and making the associated tough choices – Zanzibar or Kampala, Venice or Geneva.  And then we stepped back for a second.    It occurred to us that we have the wonderful privilege of simply “passing by” on some of the most interesting places in the world.  We are so blessed.  And we need to recognize how special and unique that truly is.

-Jonathan