
Have you ever found yourself in a place where the only words that made sense were:
While on a safari tour (a micro-cation) high in the Aberdare mountain range, we stopped at a lookout point overlooking the lows of valleys and peaks of mountains.
In the distance I could see a thin dirt track snaking its way up the curve of another mountain.

Pointing toward it I asked our guide if that’s where we were headed and he explained that the remaining portion of our drive through the Aberdare National Park would take us down into the valley before climbing to the summit of that very mountain.

As we approached the top, something shifted within me.
It was deeper than emotional.
My spirit, my soul opened up.
An unmistakable prompting rose from deep inside.
“Stop!”
Then, more urgently,
“STOP!”
The driver stopped. I stood up in our high-top safari vehicle, looked—all around us was the majesty of trees. Listened—all around us was silence.
This was not an empty silence though, it felt alive. It settled over the mountain, pressing gently against my heart.
Every distraction fell away. Every thought grew quiet. My soul opened, and I experienced hiraeth—that profound longing for home, for the place where the soul remembers it belongs.
When the Spirit of God arrests me like that, I have learned not to rush past the moment. My only response has always been praise.
I said to the driver and our guide:
“We’re taking a praise break.”
My friends didn’t hesitate. I went to one of my favourite praise songs and together we belted out into the crisp mountain air:
“Jesus You Love Me Too Much O.”
For those few precious moments, we stood untouched by deadlines, free from family responsibilities, and beyond the relentless cycle of news headlines, wars, violence, and the endless demands that so often crowd our lives.
We found peace—not the absence of noise, but the presence of God.
Hands lifted toward heaven, we sang together. I imagine that our voices echoed across the mountains, and for a little while, heaven felt wonderfully close.
When we finished singing, the tour guide pointed out what we had not seen:

Across the valley, on another mountainside, a herd of elephants moving through the forest, slowly making their way through the landscape.
I don’t know whether they were there all along.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the Creator simply allowed us to notice them at that very moment. Yeah, that’s what it was—the Creator and creation had joined in the worship time of the created.
That moment reminded me that all of creation bears witness to His glory.
God is always present—an ever present presence. It’s just that we aren’t always aware.
The pace of life has a way of dulling our spiritual senses. We hurry from meeting to meeting, obligation to obligation, until the whisper of God is almost drowned out by the intensity of our schedules.
But on that mountain in the Aberdares, God spoke—not through spectacle, but through stillness. Not with thunder, but with the gentle whisper, and I imagine that’s how it was for Elijah.
Or like it was for Moses before the burning bush. I knew I was standing on holy ground right there in that safari vehicle. That mountaintop became an altar, and praise became my offering.
Greatest gifts of a micro-cation is not simply rest from work
It reinforced the lesson for me that one of the greatest gifts of a micro-cation is not simply rest from work. It is the recovery of perspective. It gives us permission to slow our pace, quiet our souls, and become attentive again to the God who has been walking beside us all along.
Perhaps that is why Jesus so often withdrew to lonely places to pray. That kind of solitude is not an escape from life. Being alone with one’s self, even in the company of others, is where life can be put back into its proper order.
As I left the Aberdares that day, I carried more than photographs and memories. I carried a renewed awareness of God’s nearness.
My prayer for you is simple.
May you make room for quiet.
May you learn to welcome silence.
May you discover that God’s presence is often found in the ordinary moments when we become still enough to know we don’t need to manufacture extraordinary moments.
And when that happens may your only response be:
To stop.
To listen.
To praise.
Shabbat Shalom.
Postscript—From Safari Driver:
I wanted to share these videos because they captured one of the most meaningful moments of our safari.
As you sang praise and worship in the middle of the wilderness, I found myself quietly listening, and I must say: it was my heart that was touched. In that moment, surrounded by God’s beautiful creation, I was reminded how powerful faith, gratitude, and nature can be when they come together.
When you mentioned, “God our creator is really amazing!” This made me realize how beautiful nature truly is, even though some of us have always seen it as something ordinary. Those words stayed with me. They reminded me that our work is about so much more than taking people to see wildlife—it’s about helping people slow down, reconnect with creation, and experience its beauty in a new way.
Thank you for allowing me to be part of your journey. I hope these videos bring back the peace, joy, and blessings you experienced that day.
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In creative solidarity, Dee



















































































































































































