Job Ad

Sometimes the thought strikes me, as if it's never occurred to me before - "Holy smokes. I quit my job."  It always seems to startle me when I think about it.  I rather dread the process of finding a job - sorting through my resume, writing cover letters, applying, defining, articulating, interviewing, searching, networking.  All of that.  Thankfully, I'm not sweating bullets about it and I'm rather enjoying just being at home, being with my family, catching up with friends, purging my room of the things that I pull out and think, "Why in the world do I still have this?!"  But there are days when the following picture applies:

   

Well, except for the gym.  And Kinko's.  Those two don't apply.

Here's to finding a job.  Somewhere.

FH Awareness Day

It feels a bit odd to be looking out the window and seeing fields of corn instead of acacia trees and sisal plants.   But it feels good to be back on American soil.  Sometimes when I'm gone from home awhile, I often come back and wonder why I ever left it in the first place.  But I suppose that's all part of the process.

Christian's banner hanging at the Genzyme headquarters
in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

It feels a bit odd, too, to not be writing much about Kenya.  I did this last time I got back from Kenya - for months now I've been conveying all of these stories and adventures about life on the other side of the world and now I sit down to a computer and think, "Well, now what am I supposed to write about?"  But there are adventures to be had and stories to be told here just as much as there are adventures to be had and stories to be told half-a-world away.

One of those stories belongs to my cousin, Christian.  (I actually should have written this post yesterday on the official FH Awareness Day, but I'm still operating on the Kenyans' approach to time - I'll get there when I get there.)  Christian has this rare disease that I can't even pronounce half the time (Familial Hypercholestrolemia - we'll just go with its initials FH for my sake), but he basically has insanely high cholestrol levels.  It's made him prone to heart disease and the like since he was a child. He had a scare awhile back when doctors discovered he had several parts of his heart over 70% blocked.  Since then, he's been partnering with the FH Foundation and a company called Genzyme to promote awareness about this crazy rare disease.  He's been traversing the country and the globe it seems, giving talks at places like Harvard, meeting other patients and speaking at conferences in England and cheering on runners in the Boston Marathon who were running in his honor.  He's become quite the little spokesman for this disease - because he's literally 1 in a million. I'm so proud of him and all of the work that he's doing. 

I'll take a break from my storytelling, to let him tell his own...

"Never Say Goodbye..."

This is the part where I'm supposed to figure out how to exit gracefully.  I don't know that there is much that I could say that could fully encompass all that these last two months have meant to me.  The one thought that keeps lingering, here at the end of this particular journey to Kenya, comes from C.S. Lewis in the book A Severe Mercy. It is a quote I have often returned to as I pass through so many seasons of life.  It is appropriate now, as well. 

When it came time to part, [C.S. Lewis] insisted that they keep in touch and then said with a cheerful grin, "We'll certainly meet again here or there." The two friends shook hands and Lewis made his way across the busy highway. Then he turned to [Sheldon] Vanauken, raised his voice above the traffic, grinned and shouted, "Besides, Christians never say goodbye."

To my sweet Kenyan friends, we never have to worry about saying goodbye, for if it is not in this lifetime that we should ever cross paths again, it will surely be when we meet our Savior.  

But Our Lives As Well



Thio and I

We were chopping up carrots or tomatoes or some other vegetable that I can't quite remember.  Thio turned to me and asked very quietly, very frankly, "Have you ever prayed to God for something and he has not yet delivered it?"

I don't think I was quite ready for such a profound question so early in the day, let alone while standing over vegetables, doing what seemed to be an all together mindless task.

I nodded and thought about the answer for a moment, slowly rattling off a few things that came to mind.  And I said, "What about you?  What have you been praying for that God has not yet delivered?"

She stopped for a moment and then said in a very humble voice, "A home.  I want a home so that I can serve God with it, so that I can invite people in and give them a place to stay so that they don't have to worry about staying somewhere else.  I want a home so that when my family or my children's friends come over, they can have a room to themselves. I want a home so that when my church hosts conferences, I can invite people to stay with us for the week."

Such a pure and honest a request, from a pure and selfless heart.  A home of her own so that she can give it away to others.  A home of her own, not to enjoy for herself, but so that others might find rest and peace. 

These are the moments I will miss most, moments spent talking about the deep things of life, like unanswered prayers, someday dreams, what it really means to sacrifice your only child and why people in America don't always want to go to church.  And maybe the occasional conversation about how to slaughter a goat, which is what Stephen and I discussed earlier this week.

And these are the people I will miss the most.  When I was here two years ago, the vast majority of my time was spent with the children.  I tried to soak in every moment with them.  The time with them was a gift.  But this time around - the gift has come in the form of friendships formed with the Kenyans who selflessly serve these very same children every day.  I still love the children, but my desire to spend time with them faded more and more over the last two months in light of finding such enjoyment from people like Thio and Stephen, people who love Jesus with their whole heart, people who I look up to and admire a great deal.  These are people I have come to delight in and to enjoy their company so very much.  I have come to love Stephen's laugh and Moses' joking ways.  I have come to love Sophie's attempts at teaching me Kiswahili.  (Turns out I'm not a very good student.)  I have come to love the simple conversations shared over slices of potatoes, kale, tomatoes and spinach.  I have come to love the intense conversations about whether Jephthah actually sacrificed his daughter or not.  (Judges 11 - it has left us perplexed on occasion.) I have come to love the songs that filter through the air as Thio or Sophie sing their way through the morning.  I have come to love the soft greeting of hello that slips from Bevin's mouth, sometimes so quiet I think she's whispering.  Yes, these are but a few of the things I have come to love - and will miss the most.



One thing I have learned - or maybe just been reminded of - while standing in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the village kitchen is this: love is both sacrificial and present.  It not only lays aside its own wants and needs but it shows up.  It makes itself known, it makes itself available, here, now, today.  Love shares its life.  Love does, as Bob Goff says.  I'm sure there are some people who think it's maybe a little bit crazy to spend all this money to buy a plane ticket, quit your job and come halfway around the world just to chop up carrots, tutor some kids and make paper crowns for the latest Resident of the Month.  And that's okay - everybody's entitled to an opinion.  But here's what I figure - there was a man who stepped down from His throne and put on some skin just so He could bandage my wounds.  It's a love that is both sacrificial and present.  Jesus showed up.  He shared not only the gospel, but his life as well.  I am learning to do the same, through the example of these beautiful Kenyan people.


Me, Bevin, Janet, Sophie, Thio, Joyce, and Stephen

I think there are always moments when you come to places like this and you expect to be the blessing to those you meet.  (We're so arrogant, aren't we? We humans always manage to make it about ourselves, don't we?) But the true miracle is when you discover it is you that is blessed by people who have shared with you not only the gospel of God - but their lives as well.     

"Because we loved you so much, we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well."  1 Thessalonians 2:8    

His Reflection

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared about returning home in a week and a half.  Don't get me wrong, I am good and ready to come home.  But every day is an act of my discipline to remain fully here - mentally, emotionally, spiritually - because all I think about is being there.  I'm doing my best to not make "to do" lists, writing down all the things I want to do when I get home.  I don't want to miss out on what's here because I'm so busy thinking of home and all that is going on there.

But there are fears nonetheless.

I'm afraid of going back to the routine of who I used to be.

I'm afraid of time having its way with me, forgetting all that I've learned here, of having the memories fade.

I'm afraid of slipping back into old habits, whatever they might be.

I'm afraid of the possible monotony and ordinary.

I'm afraid of people having high expectations of me and then they get disappointed when they realize I'm still the same ol' sinful me.

I'm afraid of not finding a job that doesn't have a strong sense of purpose.

I'm afraid of being silent when I most need to speak up.

I'm afraid of forgetting the value of a dollar and just how much one dollar can change things for someone.

I'm afraid of people asking me questions I don't have answers for.

But do you know what I fear most?

I'm afraid I'll get home and people will still see me instead of seeing Jesus.

A few weeks ago, a man at church here in Nairobi read the following poem and I think it expresses my sentiments better than anything I could ever write to satisfy this moment...

When Jesus looks upon my life,
What picture does He see?
Does He see His own reflection,
Or does He just see me?

Does He see His likeness,
The product of His hand?
Or just another Christian,
Who never took a stand?

Does He see a child of God,
A child that He made free?
Living life to honor Him,
Or does He just see me?

What about the other folks,
I meet along the way?
Do I show them Jesus,
To brighten up their day?

When someone looks into my eyes,
Can they truly see
That calm and gentle peace of God,
That dwells inside of me?

When I reach out and shake a hand,
Is He right there in my grip?
Can they feel that strength from God,
That steadies when I slip?

When folks are in my presence,
Do they know His Spirit's there?
Can they see that He's the one,
Who guides me everywhere?

When other people think of me,
What is on their mind?
Do they think of Jesus Christ,
So gentle and so kind?

I try to be like Jesus
Every single day
Spreading love and kindness,
All along my way.

I'm afraid that I have failed,
I could not pass the test.
Deep inside my heart I know,
I haven't done my best.

I have had to fight my flesh,
Since the day that I was born.
It's always causing trouble,
And being such a thorn.

That's why His Spirit dwells in me,
He's helping me to learn
In every situation
Where I need to turn.

He knew I'd never pass the test,
That's why He took my place.
He gave His life to save my soul,
He suffered my disgrace.

Now I try to be like Him,
I must represent Him well.
So other folks will want His gift,
And turn their backs on hell.

Other folks should see the joy
That Christ has given me.
They should want to have it too,
Especially since it's free.

They should begin to ask me,
What is it they must do,
Just how it is they go about,
Getting Jesus too.

Then I get to tell them,
This wondrous gift is free.
It only takes a humble heart,
A prayer on bended knee.

Someday when I'm face to face,
With the Lord who made me free
Will He see His own reflection,
Or will He just see me?

Week's Recap in Photos

This is Johnson doing his goofy dance. It's really much better live.
Still photos just don't cut it.  I told him to come up with some new dance moves, so
his latest version is basically what amounts to an imitation of Celine Dion.
He'll throw one hand up in the air and then act like he's holding a microphone and singing
his little heart out.  The kid makes me laugh every time.

I got so many cards this past week that the Village Director asked me if I had a birthday she didn't know about  Nope, just lots of mail from people I love!  And as much as I love sending mail (my all-time favorite is when I sent my friend Erica a donkey pinata.  Yes, you can put postage on a pinata and the post office will deliver it as is.), but I love receiving mail even more! 

Movie night! This is all 98 children in the village.  Movies and popcorn are a
special treat for them so everyone was quite excited for it to begin. We watched
Free Willy 3 (I think?) and the children loved it.  It's a bit difficult to hear a movie
when you have 98 children crunching on popcorn and crinkling their bags - but
thank goodness for subtitles!

This is the main gate.  I went for a walk one evening and happened to
catch the sun setting just as it slipped below the wall of the village.
I really should get this picture framed.  Just need to photoshop
those electrical wires out of it.  They don't work in real life
most of the time so cropping them out would probably be an accurate reflection.

Millicent, making a ridiculous face while eating her chipati.
I think that is one of my favorite things to make now in the kitchen.
Stephen says I'm quite good at it.  :)  It takes some practice, though.
I'll be an expert by the time I come home.  I should get the recipe from Thio
so I can make chipati for everybody back home.  I'll spare you the ugali.