As I sit in my warm and cozy dorm room looking at the flakes of white fall from the sky, I think of the things I miss. I miss running barefoot through the emerald grass, smiling as the laughter of the beautiful Maasai children reach my ears as we played many games of soccer. I long to back to the days where simplicity was eternally mine. Where imagination was a way of life. I miss the days where riding in the truck was like riding in Cinderella's Coach. I miss the days when "pretend that. . ." was the start to every sentence among all the missionary kids as we climbed the trees at Mennonite Guest House. I miss climbing up into a tree and hiding away with a book and watching the monkeys climb above me and chatter to themselves. I miss hearing "Sopa" thousands of times everyday as people came up to the little red house to "chew the news" and drink chai. I miss the feeling that God was looking apon our little village and smiling as the believers gathered and worshiped in such a way that tears filled my eyes as the most beautiful prayers reached the heavens. I miss Olkoroi.
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