I've been running into all sort of friends and family members since I've been home from Africa. Saw some at a local festival. Saw them at church. Saw them at family get-togethers. And the question is always the same.
"Sooooooooo....how was Africa?"
I honestly think I'm a little baffled by the question sometimes, not because it's necessarily a bad question, but more because sometimes I don't know just how much of an honest answer to give.
Do I say, "Well, it was a really great trip. Can't wait to go back"?
Do I say, "Oh, the safari was fantastic and the children are wonderful. Just so adorable!"?
Do I say, "It was the trip of a lifetime and I'm so thankful I was able to go"?
Those are all good and sufficient answers I suppose on some level, but I always feel this need to pull people in close (I never actually do) and look them right in the eye and really tell how Africa was.
I want to tell them about the overwhelming sense of satisfaction I feel when I think about my time there. Not in a that-was-a-great-meal-I'm-so-satisfied kind of way, but a deep-in-your-gut, terribly profound sense of joy, satisfaction, and fulfillment. I want to tell them what a rich and rewarding experience it was to not only labor alongside the Kenyans, but to play alongside the Kenyans, to see their country, to see their animals, to see their cities, to love on their children. I want to tell people how fulfilling it felt to do something, to physically get work done and fall into bed at night and to feel like you had been productive. In times past when I had been doing ministry overseas, the focus was so much on evangelism, which is great and has a place in God's plan, but this time around I just loved the fact that I worked. That I was literally being the hands and feet of Jesus in practical day-to-day ways.
I miss Kenya on a frequent basis. I do things like watch Invictus or flip through my photos or try to catch the latest online news out of Africa, just to momentarily have the satisfaction of feeling like I'm maintaining some kind of connection. Maybe it's time to start planning the return trip? Who wants to go? :)
9.19.2010
9.08.2010
"I'm Courtney and I don't have a ten-year plan..."
What I think I look forward to more than anything in this transition back to life in Ohio is this time spent every Tuesday with women in this small group and then Wednesday nights with a mixed age/gender/marital status group that builds on the pastor's Sunday teachings. I think a vast majority of people in my generation miss out on the value of multi-generational groups. We always want to be with people our own age because that's safe, but people our own age haven't lived life any further than we have most of the time. Not say that our own peer groups aren't vital - they certainly are. But they come with different advantages and viewpoints than of those who have a few more adventures and experiences under their belts. There's something to be said for spending time with people who have been down the road, miles ahead of you, and who typically know way more than you do. That was one of the greatest gifts for me in college and the years since was to be mentored by someone older than me, to spend time listening to her words of wisdom.
My dear friend, Myrt, pulled me aside last night and said she didn't want me to feel like she had railroaded me into coming to her small group, thinking that maybe I would like to be around people my own age. Myrt is maybe in her 80s and is one of the neatest people I know, but I looked at her and said, "Myrt, the last thing I need is a singles group or a young adult group. I've had enough of those in my lifetime." I'm not anti-twenty-somethings, I think I've just spent my life gravitating toward older people. Maybe they have more stories to tell and maybe they know how to tell them better? I don't rightly know.
But there's always that moment when I feel a little out of sorts at introductions for small groups, regardless of age. Women inevitably introduce themselves according to their marital status and the number of children they have. "My name is Susy Q and I'm married with 3 kids." Nobody go up in arms - I'm not saying that being defined by your husband and children is a bad thing, but I always feel this need to spice up introductions and somehow say something like, "I'm Courtney, and I don't have a ten-year plan and kids scare the living daylights out of me." I don't think I'm brave enough to try such an introduction yet, though.
Maybe someday I'll get the gumption.
9.01.2010
The Lion King
I was already missing Kenya and so I figured watching The Lion King might help. So I nestled into the couch and enjoyed seeing the animated versions of all the animals I had seen in real life, still wishing I was seeing the real thing, though. Little did I know, however, that when my nephew came over to visit and wanted to watch a movie that, of all the countless movies we have in our house, he picks The Lion King. So I watch it for the second time in one day.
And then I remembered I never showed you my photographs of the male lion I saw on safari. Truly, the lion king.
And then I remembered I never showed you my photographs of the male lion I saw on safari. Truly, the lion king.
Wait for it...
Let him have his beauty rest...
Now he's posing for the others...
And there you have it...
Love it.
8.30.2010
The Other Side of My Dreams
I started the journey home on Saturday afternoon at 2:30 and made it back on Sunday afternoon at 2:00, and there were a lot of emotions and stops in between. I didn't have anybody mixing her cheesecake with her roast beef on the plane ride, but I'm pretty sure I looked at the lady in the shop in the airport like she had three heads, much like I did with my former seatmate. I was killing time waiting for my flight in Nairobi so I stopped in one of the shops to get some water and see if maybe there were any last minute souvenirs. I grabbed a bottled water and happened to see some bookmarks off to the side that had photos of some of the wildlife in Kenya with "Kenya" written in big bold letters across the top. "These should be simple enough," I thought, something I could give to a few people as small mementos. I go up to the counter, tell the lady I'm paying shillings since I still had some left and she told me it would 1,050 shillings for two bookmarks and a bottled water.
"Excuse me, how much?"
"1,050 shillings."
I'm kind of screeching at her at this point, "For what? How much is the water and how much are the bookmarks?"
"Fifty for the water and 500 shillings for each of the bookmarks."
I think my jaw dropped at this point and I must have looked at her like she was mad. The exchange rate is right around 80 shillings for one US dollar. So the water was costing me less than a dollar, but a flimsy bookmark that should really cost no more than 75 cents was costing me over $6?! I nearly told her that was crazy, but instead simply said no thanks, got my water, and kept my shillings.
I said good riddance to ridiculous airport prices, I enjoyed my water and then hopped on my flight to Ethiopia. Once there, we made our way to Rome, then to D.C. and finally to Columbus. It was hard saying goodbye to Kenya, hard saying goodbye to the children. I was doing so well holding it together until David come out to give me a hug and when he turned around and left to go back to his room, one of his brothers came out and said, "David's crying." Gee, kid, thanks for breaking for my heart and making this even harder by telling me that little fact. I managed to hold it together long enough to tell them all goodbye and then I just cried my eyes out walking back to the guest house. Some of them had given me notes, thanking me for coming, saying they'll miss me. I'll treasure those notes always.
Since being home, I feel like I have wanted to eat everything in sight and nearly have. Hawaiian pizza has never tasted so amazing and neither has apple pie, nor the spiced pumpkin cookies, nor one of my mother's milkshakes. My body is probably going to hate me after having lived on beans, rice, and ugali for the last month. There's a lot I'll miss about Kenya, those three things not among them, though. I know God has a sense of humor, though, when I sat down to have my last meal with the kids. I thought I had eaten beans for the final time on Thursday for dinner. But then I sat down Saturday for lunch and saw that it was beans again. "You would do something like this, wouldn't you, God? You're soooo funny." I had a good laugh and still managed to eat my meal.
I'm sure in the coming weeks and months I'll continue to unpack exactly what this trip meant to me and in the context of my life. I think it has lifelong ramifications and implications, ones I may not see for years to come. And I suppose it would be fitting to end this particular portion of the adventure by going back to a starting point - my paper in 7th grade. Seems a little different now that I'm on the other side of my dream, doesn't it?
"I would definitely visit the exciting country of Kenya, Africa. To me, the animals and wildlife that live in Africa are fascinating. I would probably take an exciting safari trip! I could even take a few pictures of the herds of animals.
It sounds really exciting! After that I would tour the country to see what the region is like. I would visit the villages and cities to see the different customs and cultures that they have. Maybe I could learn to speak their language. Meeting the people of Kenya would be a special experience!!
It would be interesting to see how different Kenya is from the United States. Learning about the government, people, animals and farming of Kenya would broaden my horizons. The continent of Africa, in general, entices me. The animals and wildlife would have to be my main purpose to go to Kenya, Africa. This country seems to be very impressive.
That is why I want to visit this country so badly."
I like being on the other side of my dreams. But there are many more dreams left and hopefully I'll get to see the other side of those, as well.
"Excuse me, how much?"
"1,050 shillings."
I'm kind of screeching at her at this point, "For what? How much is the water and how much are the bookmarks?"
"Fifty for the water and 500 shillings for each of the bookmarks."
I think my jaw dropped at this point and I must have looked at her like she was mad. The exchange rate is right around 80 shillings for one US dollar. So the water was costing me less than a dollar, but a flimsy bookmark that should really cost no more than 75 cents was costing me over $6?! I nearly told her that was crazy, but instead simply said no thanks, got my water, and kept my shillings.
I said good riddance to ridiculous airport prices, I enjoyed my water and then hopped on my flight to Ethiopia. Once there, we made our way to Rome, then to D.C. and finally to Columbus. It was hard saying goodbye to Kenya, hard saying goodbye to the children. I was doing so well holding it together until David come out to give me a hug and when he turned around and left to go back to his room, one of his brothers came out and said, "David's crying." Gee, kid, thanks for breaking for my heart and making this even harder by telling me that little fact. I managed to hold it together long enough to tell them all goodbye and then I just cried my eyes out walking back to the guest house. Some of them had given me notes, thanking me for coming, saying they'll miss me. I'll treasure those notes always.
Since being home, I feel like I have wanted to eat everything in sight and nearly have. Hawaiian pizza has never tasted so amazing and neither has apple pie, nor the spiced pumpkin cookies, nor one of my mother's milkshakes. My body is probably going to hate me after having lived on beans, rice, and ugali for the last month. There's a lot I'll miss about Kenya, those three things not among them, though. I know God has a sense of humor, though, when I sat down to have my last meal with the kids. I thought I had eaten beans for the final time on Thursday for dinner. But then I sat down Saturday for lunch and saw that it was beans again. "You would do something like this, wouldn't you, God? You're soooo funny." I had a good laugh and still managed to eat my meal.
I'm sure in the coming weeks and months I'll continue to unpack exactly what this trip meant to me and in the context of my life. I think it has lifelong ramifications and implications, ones I may not see for years to come. And I suppose it would be fitting to end this particular portion of the adventure by going back to a starting point - my paper in 7th grade. Seems a little different now that I'm on the other side of my dream, doesn't it?
"I would definitely visit the exciting country of Kenya, Africa. To me, the animals and wildlife that live in Africa are fascinating. I would probably take an exciting safari trip! I could even take a few pictures of the herds of animals.
It sounds really exciting! After that I would tour the country to see what the region is like. I would visit the villages and cities to see the different customs and cultures that they have. Maybe I could learn to speak their language. Meeting the people of Kenya would be a special experience!!
It would be interesting to see how different Kenya is from the United States. Learning about the government, people, animals and farming of Kenya would broaden my horizons. The continent of Africa, in general, entices me. The animals and wildlife would have to be my main purpose to go to Kenya, Africa. This country seems to be very impressive.
That is why I want to visit this country so badly."
I like being on the other side of my dreams. But there are many more dreams left and hopefully I'll get to see the other side of those, as well.
8.27.2010
"I'd Like to Thank the Academy..."
I feel like I'm about to get up on stage and say, "I'd like to thank the Academy and all of the little people who helped me get where I am today." If I were saying the following in person, I'd probably be crying but since it's not, you'll be spared my tears and I won't be embarrassed .
In less than 24 hours, I'll be on a plane out of Kenya. I'll say my goodbyes to the children and the staff, gather my things, and head home. I'm anxious to get home - probably more so than ever before - but it will be sad to leave, too. I was just thinking last night about how maybe I've said one too many goodbyes in my lifetime, especially in the last 7 years - it has become such a common part of my life that it's like second nature. But it won't change the fact that my heart will still be sad. I don't know that I can adequately convey what a rich and rewarding time this has been for me, in so many different ways. I could go on and on about the blessings I have received while here.
But what I really want to take the time to say right now is "thank you." Thanks for reading, thanks for "virtually" coming along with me on this trip, thanks for commenting, thanks for laughing and crying along with me. This blog has been an unexpected blessing - it's not only afforded me the chance to write, which I love doing, but it's afforded me the opportunity to share stories, to share photos, to share life with others who cannot be here with me.
I won't have the space nor the time to adequately and sufficiently outline every single person that has had a hand in this trip. You would get tired of reading after awhile. So I'm writing to say thanks with broad strokes, but I'm trying to avoid saying "and I'd like to thank every person I have ever met," which just sounds insincere and lame.
To my family at First Baptist Church in Fulton - Ed, Debbie, Pastor Gary and Kristin, the Missions Committee, those were at my prayer send-off, and so many others. You helped make a dream come true. I have spent nearly 7 years with you and you have welcomed with open arms, whether I was coming or going. I would never be able to fully express what a gift you have been to me. The countless college lunches, the prayers that you covered me with, the financial support for this trip, the time spent investing in my life, challenging me, supporting me, loving me. You truly are the body of Christ in action. Whatever thanks I have to say will always fall short.
To my new Rafiki family here in Kenya - Yeen-Lan, Patty, Catherine, Stephen, Peter, the Aunties and Mamas, the other ROS, and national staff. What gems you have been to me. I think short-term volunteers come here thinking they will be a blessing, but it us in fact who have been blessed. My life is richer because of the opportunity to have labored alongside you. It has been satisfying work, rewarding work. Thank you for encouraging me and being such faithful followers of Christ and for so obediently serving Him.
And here's the part where I would probably start crying so hard that I wouldn't be able to get the words out and the stage director would say it's time for a commercial and would cue the orchestra so that I would get off the stage faster.
Mom and Dad - I know I said most of this in the letter I left you, but I want to say it publicly because you need to know that your support has mattered a great deal to me. Being a parent is a thankless job, and your children often forget that you have emotions and fears as well. I know you have had to battle many of those fears through this process - it was hard enough to send me to Missouri, to San Diego, to Russia, to North Carolina, then back to Missouri, and a few other places in between. Then I decided to come to Africa and I'm sure the fears roared. But I'll never be able to sufficiently tell you how grateful I am to have the kind of parents who said "go" even though I know you desperately wanted to say "stay" (which you certainly did say on several occasions, but also had enough sense to know I'd be going anyway). :) Thanks for giving me the chance to take flight when you would have liked to have clipped my wings, even if for my own protection and your peace of mind. You have done well and I'm honored to call you my Mom and Dad.
Jeremy, Josh, Grace, Julie, Grandma, MawMaw, and the rest of the clan, whom I dearly love - you can't be replaced. Thanks for keeping in touch even when I'm galavanting all over the place. Thanks for loving me even when it seems I spend more time apart from you than with you. I'm hoping my time apart from you becomes few and far between in the coming years. I'm tired of always being gone from you all.
I know there are plenty of other people I could thank who have been a part of this trip in both big and small ways, and I write these knowing I'm just grazing the surface - I'm not intentionally trying to leave anyone out so don't take offense. Stephanie and Zach, thanks for your financial support. Em, thanks for dreaming alongside me and going to training with me even though it didn't work out for you to likewise come to Africa this summer. I know your Africa will someday become a reality, too. Alex, you are a priceless gem. I'm glad you were in Germany the same time I was here just for the sheer fact that even though we were thousands of miles apart, we'll share in the experience of being abroad. I'll think of you tomorrow when I have to become a Girl Scout again to navigate the airports. Kristen, Erica, Venita, Travis, Student Life Staff, and so many other friends and former co-workers - thanks for your prayers and e-mails of encouragement.
I know, my words aren't enough. And the music is playing telling me I need to get off stage. Thank you, Father, for truly I would not have missed this for the world.
In less than 24 hours, I'll be on a plane out of Kenya. I'll say my goodbyes to the children and the staff, gather my things, and head home. I'm anxious to get home - probably more so than ever before - but it will be sad to leave, too. I was just thinking last night about how maybe I've said one too many goodbyes in my lifetime, especially in the last 7 years - it has become such a common part of my life that it's like second nature. But it won't change the fact that my heart will still be sad. I don't know that I can adequately convey what a rich and rewarding time this has been for me, in so many different ways. I could go on and on about the blessings I have received while here.
But what I really want to take the time to say right now is "thank you." Thanks for reading, thanks for "virtually" coming along with me on this trip, thanks for commenting, thanks for laughing and crying along with me. This blog has been an unexpected blessing - it's not only afforded me the chance to write, which I love doing, but it's afforded me the opportunity to share stories, to share photos, to share life with others who cannot be here with me.
I won't have the space nor the time to adequately and sufficiently outline every single person that has had a hand in this trip. You would get tired of reading after awhile. So I'm writing to say thanks with broad strokes, but I'm trying to avoid saying "and I'd like to thank every person I have ever met," which just sounds insincere and lame.
To my family at First Baptist Church in Fulton - Ed, Debbie, Pastor Gary and Kristin, the Missions Committee, those were at my prayer send-off, and so many others. You helped make a dream come true. I have spent nearly 7 years with you and you have welcomed with open arms, whether I was coming or going. I would never be able to fully express what a gift you have been to me. The countless college lunches, the prayers that you covered me with, the financial support for this trip, the time spent investing in my life, challenging me, supporting me, loving me. You truly are the body of Christ in action. Whatever thanks I have to say will always fall short.
To my new Rafiki family here in Kenya - Yeen-Lan, Patty, Catherine, Stephen, Peter, the Aunties and Mamas, the other ROS, and national staff. What gems you have been to me. I think short-term volunteers come here thinking they will be a blessing, but it us in fact who have been blessed. My life is richer because of the opportunity to have labored alongside you. It has been satisfying work, rewarding work. Thank you for encouraging me and being such faithful followers of Christ and for so obediently serving Him.
And here's the part where I would probably start crying so hard that I wouldn't be able to get the words out and the stage director would say it's time for a commercial and would cue the orchestra so that I would get off the stage faster.
Mom and Dad - I know I said most of this in the letter I left you, but I want to say it publicly because you need to know that your support has mattered a great deal to me. Being a parent is a thankless job, and your children often forget that you have emotions and fears as well. I know you have had to battle many of those fears through this process - it was hard enough to send me to Missouri, to San Diego, to Russia, to North Carolina, then back to Missouri, and a few other places in between. Then I decided to come to Africa and I'm sure the fears roared. But I'll never be able to sufficiently tell you how grateful I am to have the kind of parents who said "go" even though I know you desperately wanted to say "stay" (which you certainly did say on several occasions, but also had enough sense to know I'd be going anyway). :) Thanks for giving me the chance to take flight when you would have liked to have clipped my wings, even if for my own protection and your peace of mind. You have done well and I'm honored to call you my Mom and Dad.
Jeremy, Josh, Grace, Julie, Grandma, MawMaw, and the rest of the clan, whom I dearly love - you can't be replaced. Thanks for keeping in touch even when I'm galavanting all over the place. Thanks for loving me even when it seems I spend more time apart from you than with you. I'm hoping my time apart from you becomes few and far between in the coming years. I'm tired of always being gone from you all.
I know there are plenty of other people I could thank who have been a part of this trip in both big and small ways, and I write these knowing I'm just grazing the surface - I'm not intentionally trying to leave anyone out so don't take offense. Stephanie and Zach, thanks for your financial support. Em, thanks for dreaming alongside me and going to training with me even though it didn't work out for you to likewise come to Africa this summer. I know your Africa will someday become a reality, too. Alex, you are a priceless gem. I'm glad you were in Germany the same time I was here just for the sheer fact that even though we were thousands of miles apart, we'll share in the experience of being abroad. I'll think of you tomorrow when I have to become a Girl Scout again to navigate the airports. Kristen, Erica, Venita, Travis, Student Life Staff, and so many other friends and former co-workers - thanks for your prayers and e-mails of encouragement.
I know, my words aren't enough. And the music is playing telling me I need to get off stage. Thank you, Father, for truly I would not have missed this for the world.
8.26.2010
Just One Request
But you want to know what's really amazing about Peter?
He's an orphan.
Just like the kids that he stoops down to talk to, he has no parents. And so he takes the time to let each of them know that even if he or she doesn't have parents, they at least have a few minutes with him and they have his undivided attention.
It's stunning to realize in that moment, watching him, here was proof of the sovereignty and grace of God for here is an orphan helping influence the next generation of orphans. And I imagine there will be a day when these Rafiki orphans will turn and reach out to other orphans.
There are others here on staff that are likewise orphans, and here they are working at an orphanage, investing in the lives of 91 young Kenyan children who once upon a time had no hope.
You see, Rafiki is committed to making a difference in the lives of orphans, both young and old, in ten different countries scattered throughout the continent of Africa. They firmly believe in raising these children in their native country, teaching them their native language in addition to English, and equipping them so that they can give back to their own countries. I think sometimes it's easy for us to think in America that we can just slap a band-aid on something to fix it, or in the case of these children, we may want to just remove them from their country all together, bring them to America, teach them our culture, our ways, and send them to our schools. There certainly is a time and a place for that, but one of the chief reasons why I gladly stand behind Rafiki's vision is that they do not allow their children to be adopted. They are not simply removed from the situation. They are equipped in the midst of it. Their own countries need them to be godly leaders and students more than America or other countries need them to be godly leaders and students.
But why do I say all that? Because I want you know that what Rafiki is doing, what God is doing through Rafiki, matters. It matters a great deal. It matters to the people who work here, the native Kenyans, the long-term overseas staff, the children, people from the community who come and go from the village.
I'm not the kind of person to ask anyone for help normally. I get a little too self-sufficient and self-reliant for my own good (I'm working on it). But in this case, I have one request and in this situation, I'll unashamedly ask: Help. Not in a desperate HELP! sort of way, just help. Schools and cottages need to be built as more and more children are brought into the fold, children need sponsors, volunteers are requested to come and to labor alongside those who are already here. The villages don't run on air, good intentions, and imaginary labor. But I want to be sure to say this too - I'm not here to appeal to pity and I'm not here to appeal to guilt. This isn't about feeling sorry for these children. God is working here and he has been faithful to carry each of the children to their respective villages and he will be faithful to carry them unto the end. He can do it without you and he can do it without me.
But why not jump into the fray of it all and get your hands dirty a little bit and find out just how big our God is?
There are several ways to get on board and help out. One, you can sponsor a child, which entails monthly financial support. You can obtain more information at Rafiki's Sponsor page or you can call the Home Office at 352.483.9131. I know for a fact that Lilian (pictured left with Clint trying to make her smile by pulling her cheeks back), who is just three years old and just arrived here in the village a couple of months ago does not have a sponsor. You could help be the first.Two, you can come. Come to Africa. Doesn't matter if it's Kenya or another Rafiki village in Africa. Just come. Have construction skills and knowledge? Come build a new school for them. Come build some new cottages. Want to teach little ones on up to high-school aged students? Come teach for awhile. Come love on some kids, even if for a couple of weeks. You can obtain more information about the short-term trips here. For other ways to give, you can go here and see a complete list.
It doesn't matter how big or small - could be $10 or $10,000. Could be 2 weeks here or two months here. Could be 1 child sponsored or 10 children sponsored. Could be 1 square foot of space provided for, could be 100 square feet. Whatever it is, whatever prayers offered, it matters.
Join Peter in raising up the next generation of godly leaders, not because they are orphans, but because they are humans, God's children, and we are responsible to them simply because of that very fact.
8.24.2010
Out of the Darkness
But what of those places that had few, if any, little yellow dots indicating that electrical currents were flowing freely? Was life happening for them? Were they not able to work or were they merely working under the cover of darkness?
For some time now, I've been haunted by a particular concept in Scripture. It seems I can't escape it and my thoughts often turn to it when I'm studying. I first stumbled across the idea while doing one of Beth Moore's studies. From there it has spawned a hundred different thoughts and caused me to trace the concept across the pages of God's Word, but I'm always left asking the same question: What is the connection between work and darkness?
If you look in Leviticus 16:29-30, it says, "This is to be lasting ordinance for you: On the tenth day of the seventh month you must deny yourselves and not do any work - because on this day atonement will be made for you, to cleanse you." But connect the dots with me over to Luke 23:44 where it says, "It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two."
You see, when the sun stopped shining, the Father and the Son went to work. Atonement was being made for the people under the cover of darkness. It's pitch black outside and now no one can work. The only person working was the Son.
And from Genesis to Revelation, from the first page of the Bible to the very last, I think this concept holds true. Now, I'm no Hebrew or Greek scholar, so I'm sure there is a lot to the language that I would need to really dig into to confirm this, but even without such academic understanding, it's still saying the same thing: God goes to work when it's darkest. Out of the darkness, God called forth the light when he formed the earth. Out of the darkness, God caused a deep sleep to come over Adam and God went to work forming woman (Genesis 2:21-22). Out of the darkness, God God brought a darkness over Abram and made a covenant with him (Genesis 15:12-21). Out of the darkness, God sent his one and only Son to die on the cross, making the ultimate atonement for his people.
But it will be out of the darkness when God says I have no more need for you, no more need for darkness because I have completed the work I set out to do. Revelation 22:4-5 says, "They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light." There will come a day when there will no longer be a need for darkness because the work of atonement will be finished.
I know I haven't seen the worst of the worst here in Africa, but I've seen enough to know that it's just on the other side. And I wonder sometimes if God is working here. I look into the faces of the people, and look into their eyes, and I wonder what hope they have. I look out over the land where all I see is desperation and despair at times and I wonder how God is working in the face of it all. I wonder if any work is being done on the Dark Continent.
But then I remember that map of the world at night. If we looked at the world based only on strength of light, Africa might as well not exist. It's nothing but darkness except for a few small corners of it. And as I ponder that map, I remember that God is a God who does his best work under the cover of darkness. I think God is doing some of his best work in the darkness of Africa, an atoning work. He's out to redeem his people - the orphans, the widows, the sick, the hungry, the poor. Am I saying His work is being done exclusively in Africa and not elsewhere? Of course not. God cannot be so confined and I cannot be so foolish to believe that it is only in darkness that he works.
But whether darkness or light, I know God is working here. Because there are 91 little orphans and 50 or so staff who are some incredibly bright lights in a very dark land. They will be his hands and feet that go to work bringing the Light to this darkness.
"Into marvelous light I'm running, out of darkness, out of shame..."
8.22.2010
"It's 5 o'clock somewhere..."
Who knew going to church could be such an entertaining adventure. I really felt Annie Dillard's quote was appropriate for this morning, in a very literal way:
“Does anyone have the foggiest idea of what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews.”
Maybe I didn't need the usher to issue me a crash helmet, but I imagine it would have been appropriate for the bus driver to give me one.
I've only been able to go to church two of the Sundays that I've been here and today would be the first time I would go with the children. Normally there are two cottages that go to the Anglican church, while the other 8 cottages got to Thika Road Baptist Church. Today, however, was a little different.
Today the bus got a flat tire.
This was before anybody had been picked up yet, so none of us were on the bus when it got a flat tire, but it caused a chain reaction which led to all 91 children plus the 10 mamas going to Thika Road instead of dividing up.
But here's the thing. The church bus is like a short bus and a half, and you have to deliver the kids in two trips. Most regular school buses in the states I think fit around 45 kids. Okay, well, lose some space and we still have to fit the same number of kids, plus some of the mamas. We've got kids in their Sunday finest sitting on each other's laps, faces squished against the windows, mamas trying to suck it in, and me left sitting on a worn out cushion on the bus steps at the door's entrance, holding onto whatever I can find anchored down. It's a good thing it's a short drive, albeit through some rough roads. I also had my own little knight in shining armor next to me during the bus ride. Not only had Johnson informed me this morning while waiting how to change a tire and that he can successfully do so himself (he's 4-years old), he also warned me when the big bumps or hills were coming and told me that I need to hold tightly to the bar. I let go at one point, and he instructed me again that I must hold on. It's nice to know someone is watching out for me, even if he's barely tall enough to reach my waist. :)
We make it safely to church, the streets of Mwiki and Kasarani a blur as I stare out the window during the trip. We drop all the kids off to the children's church service and I head into the main church service with the mamas. Church starts at 10 and usually lasts until noon. Both churches that I have been to now follow a similar line-up that churches in the states do - open with praise & worship, prayer, announcements, sermon, end with more praise & worship. And, of course, there is also that standard routine in every church it seems: the meet and greet.
I have no idea why I hate this part of church so much and why it makes me literally groan out loud, when the pastor tells you "turn and greet the person next to you, introduce yourself, tell them how glad you are they came this morning!" (Is anybody else with me on this tradition?) I certainly am glad my pew neighbors came this morning, I just don't feel particularly compelled to tell them or to shake their hand. I'm not trying to be rude or anti-social, I just want to get on with the service. Maybe I'm too much of a pragmatist for my own good. It's also a time that causes me to morph into the most awkward person on the planet. I suddenly act like I'm twelve again and don't know how to look people in the eye. Jess Tipton, Katirose, and I often laughed about this point while in church.
But on with the service we did go. After two hours, we wrapped up and headed out the door to climb on the bus. On the ride back, though, I managed to snag a seat with little David sitting on my lap, both of us crammed against the window. The radio was on, which sounded weird to me since I hadn't heard one in awhile. We're cruising along and what is this I hear playing?
"Pour me somethin' tall an' strong, make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane. It's only half-past twelve but I don't care. It's five o'clock somewhere.
I had to hold in the laughter because I knew there was no way I was going to be able to adequately explain to a bunch of orphaned African children when they asked why I was laughing. I found it so amusing to hear this song playing while on the bus ride back from praising Jesus. They have no idea who Alan Jackson is, don't care who Jimmy Buffett is, and think a hurricane is probably just a big scary storm out in the ocean. So I tried to control myself.
I just found the whole situation so amusing and ironic. I dearly love country music, but really? Of all the songs to be playing.
But we finally made it back to the village, no hurricanes in sight. Crash helmets needed, indeed, when going to church.
“Does anyone have the foggiest idea of what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews.”
Maybe I didn't need the usher to issue me a crash helmet, but I imagine it would have been appropriate for the bus driver to give me one.
I've only been able to go to church two of the Sundays that I've been here and today would be the first time I would go with the children. Normally there are two cottages that go to the Anglican church, while the other 8 cottages got to Thika Road Baptist Church. Today, however, was a little different.
Today the bus got a flat tire.
This was before anybody had been picked up yet, so none of us were on the bus when it got a flat tire, but it caused a chain reaction which led to all 91 children plus the 10 mamas going to Thika Road instead of dividing up.
But here's the thing. The church bus is like a short bus and a half, and you have to deliver the kids in two trips. Most regular school buses in the states I think fit around 45 kids. Okay, well, lose some space and we still have to fit the same number of kids, plus some of the mamas. We've got kids in their Sunday finest sitting on each other's laps, faces squished against the windows, mamas trying to suck it in, and me left sitting on a worn out cushion on the bus steps at the door's entrance, holding onto whatever I can find anchored down. It's a good thing it's a short drive, albeit through some rough roads. I also had my own little knight in shining armor next to me during the bus ride. Not only had Johnson informed me this morning while waiting how to change a tire and that he can successfully do so himself (he's 4-years old), he also warned me when the big bumps or hills were coming and told me that I need to hold tightly to the bar. I let go at one point, and he instructed me again that I must hold on. It's nice to know someone is watching out for me, even if he's barely tall enough to reach my waist. :)
We make it safely to church, the streets of Mwiki and Kasarani a blur as I stare out the window during the trip. We drop all the kids off to the children's church service and I head into the main church service with the mamas. Church starts at 10 and usually lasts until noon. Both churches that I have been to now follow a similar line-up that churches in the states do - open with praise & worship, prayer, announcements, sermon, end with more praise & worship. And, of course, there is also that standard routine in every church it seems: the meet and greet.
I have no idea why I hate this part of church so much and why it makes me literally groan out loud, when the pastor tells you "turn and greet the person next to you, introduce yourself, tell them how glad you are they came this morning!" (Is anybody else with me on this tradition?) I certainly am glad my pew neighbors came this morning, I just don't feel particularly compelled to tell them or to shake their hand. I'm not trying to be rude or anti-social, I just want to get on with the service. Maybe I'm too much of a pragmatist for my own good. It's also a time that causes me to morph into the most awkward person on the planet. I suddenly act like I'm twelve again and don't know how to look people in the eye. Jess Tipton, Katirose, and I often laughed about this point while in church.
But on with the service we did go. After two hours, we wrapped up and headed out the door to climb on the bus. On the ride back, though, I managed to snag a seat with little David sitting on my lap, both of us crammed against the window. The radio was on, which sounded weird to me since I hadn't heard one in awhile. We're cruising along and what is this I hear playing?
"Pour me somethin' tall an' strong, make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane. It's only half-past twelve but I don't care. It's five o'clock somewhere.
I had to hold in the laughter because I knew there was no way I was going to be able to adequately explain to a bunch of orphaned African children when they asked why I was laughing. I found it so amusing to hear this song playing while on the bus ride back from praising Jesus. They have no idea who Alan Jackson is, don't care who Jimmy Buffett is, and think a hurricane is probably just a big scary storm out in the ocean. So I tried to control myself.
I just found the whole situation so amusing and ironic. I dearly love country music, but really? Of all the songs to be playing.
But we finally made it back to the village, no hurricanes in sight. Crash helmets needed, indeed, when going to church.
8.20.2010
I Will Tell Them
I am sitting still
I think of Angelique
Her mother's voice over me
And the bullets in the wall where it fell silent
And on a thousands hill, I think of Albertine
There in her eyes what I don't see with my own
Rwanda
Now that I have seen, I am responsible
Faith without deeds is dead
Now that I have held you in my own arms, I cannot let go till you are
I am on a plane across a distant sea
But I carry you in me
and the dust on, the dust on, the dust on my feet
Rwanda
I will tell the world, I will tell them where I've been
I will keep my word
I will tell them Albertine
I am on a stage, a thousand eyes on me
I will tell them, Albertine
I will tell them, Albertine
I will tell them, Benson.
I will tell them, Peter.
I will tell them, Denise.
I will tell them, Abel.
I will tell them, Victor.
I will tell them, Elijah.
I will tell them, Rahab.
I will tell them, Hannah.
I will tell them, Stella.
I will tell them, Lillian.
To the children in Rafiki Village Kenya - I will tell them.
I will tell them of your matchless love for Jesus, even at 4-years old. I will tell them how you pray prayers so selflessly and without thought to your own needs. I will tell them of how you love to learn, how your minds are like little sponges. I will tell them of how you make me weep over your purity and innocence, how the faith you possess is deeper than any faith I have ever known. I will tell them of your longings to be pilots, pastors, doctors, and teachers. I will tell them of your dreams for Kenya and how you proudly sing its national anthem every morning before school. I will tell them of how you make me laugh at your silliness and joyful spirit. I will them what it's like to hold your little hand in mine and marvel at the sovereignty of God in a land and in a country that often seems as though God forgot it. I will tell them how you consider all 91 children in the village your brothers and sisters though you may not be related by blood. I will tell them how you sing hymns from the very depths of your heart, so off-key and so very loud. I will tell them of a God whose grace has abounded in the hearts of young Kenyan orphans.
I will tell them.
Now that I have seen, I am responsible.
I will tell them where I've been because I carry you in me and in the dust on my feet.
I will keep my word.
I think of Angelique
Her mother's voice over me
And the bullets in the wall where it fell silent
And on a thousands hill, I think of Albertine
There in her eyes what I don't see with my own
Rwanda
Now that I have seen, I am responsible
Faith without deeds is dead
Now that I have held you in my own arms, I cannot let go till you are
I am on a plane across a distant sea
But I carry you in me
and the dust on, the dust on, the dust on my feet
Rwanda
I will tell the world, I will tell them where I've been
I will keep my word
I will tell them Albertine
I am on a stage, a thousand eyes on me
I will tell them, Albertine
I will tell them, Albertine
I will tell them, Benson.
I will tell them, Peter.
I will tell them, Denise.
I will tell them, Abel.
I will tell them, Victor.
I will tell them, Elijah.
I will tell them, Rahab.
I will tell them, Hannah.
I will tell them, Stella.
I will tell them, Lillian.
To the children in Rafiki Village Kenya - I will tell them.
I will tell them of your matchless love for Jesus, even at 4-years old. I will tell them how you pray prayers so selflessly and without thought to your own needs. I will tell them of how you love to learn, how your minds are like little sponges. I will tell them of how you make me weep over your purity and innocence, how the faith you possess is deeper than any faith I have ever known. I will tell them of your longings to be pilots, pastors, doctors, and teachers. I will tell them of your dreams for Kenya and how you proudly sing its national anthem every morning before school. I will tell them of how you make me laugh at your silliness and joyful spirit. I will them what it's like to hold your little hand in mine and marvel at the sovereignty of God in a land and in a country that often seems as though God forgot it. I will tell them how you consider all 91 children in the village your brothers and sisters though you may not be related by blood. I will tell them how you sing hymns from the very depths of your heart, so off-key and so very loud. I will tell them of a God whose grace has abounded in the hearts of young Kenyan orphans.
I will tell them.
Now that I have seen, I am responsible.
I will tell them where I've been because I carry you in me and in the dust on my feet.
I will keep my word.
8.19.2010
Do Good - Helping Haiti, Helping Africa
I probably would have come seriously close to dropping out of college if not for Kristina. We were each other's form of sanity during my freshman year, her senior year. We were suitemates, sorority sisters, sisters in Christ, and eventually Big Sis/Lil Sis. How we met started sometime before I even set foot on the campus of William Woods. When I first started looking at WWU, I wanted to talk to some current students. So I hopped online and I randomly happened to find her profile. We began chatting and kept in touch off-and-on over a year or two as I began to get closer and closer to high school graduation and my freshman year of college. I arrived on campus, met her during recruitment, and the rest is history. We have both bounced all over the world for quite a few years now, whether for school, jobs, or missions. We've managed to stay in touch, even though sometimes we may go for months at a time and not talk simply because of schedules and life.
I have watched Kristina and countless other women in Delta Gamma live by the open motto of Delta Gamma, which is "do good." It's the words we are called to live by within the organization. Whatever you do, do good. I have watched them live by a higher standard and live according to higher expectations. In one of the recent editions of Delta Gamma's magazine, ANCHORA, Kristina and others were featured in a story called "Helping Haiti." It followed the lives of several DGs who had volunteered their time and service in the wake of Haiti's devastation.
So I figured it would be appropriate to show a photo of one Lil Sis helping Africa with one Big Sis helping Haiti. I brought that edition of the magazine with Kristina's photo and story with me to Africa with the intent to take this photo. She is, in fact, down in Haiti right now continuing to work amidst the ruin and you can follow her blog here.
Hopefully we'll each continue to do good, wherever we end up.
I have watched Kristina and countless other women in Delta Gamma live by the open motto of Delta Gamma, which is "do good." It's the words we are called to live by within the organization. Whatever you do, do good. I have watched them live by a higher standard and live according to higher expectations. In one of the recent editions of Delta Gamma's magazine, ANCHORA, Kristina and others were featured in a story called "Helping Haiti." It followed the lives of several DGs who had volunteered their time and service in the wake of Haiti's devastation. So I figured it would be appropriate to show a photo of one Lil Sis helping Africa with one Big Sis helping Haiti. I brought that edition of the magazine with Kristina's photo and story with me to Africa with the intent to take this photo. She is, in fact, down in Haiti right now continuing to work amidst the ruin and you can follow her blog here.
Hopefully we'll each continue to do good, wherever we end up.
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