Living Radically Requires Rest August 28, 2012

          As I’ve talked about before, I’ve recently read “Radical” by David Platt about stepping out in faith and living in light of the Holy Spirit’s provision, not our own plans, money, and sense of security. I’ve reached a different stage in my time in Kenya…I am definitely “doing life” here and it doesn’t feel like a trip anymore. There is a routine and rhythm of the weeks and a familiarity of walking around our part of Nairobi as well as in the daily walk to the school.  But where does that leave me? I have to pinch myself to remember that due to Jesus’ faithfulness I’m living out the dream that has shaped the majority of my life. How can that be mundane and monotonous? Over this last week, in the midst of a wonderful weekend of birthday celebrations, badminton games, and plenty helpings of dairy-free desserts, I realized that even in the midst of the time here that is clearly governed and directed by His hands—I had started to get complacent and find security in the predictable.  As I read by the window overlooking a small garden, I was reminded that each day and moment is given by His grace and is only lived fully when I focus on Him. I had to realize that even in the midst of living out a God-given dream, my sinful nature still pulls toward self-reliance. 

       Similarly, as I finish this post an evening later, I have been reminded to slow down. To take time to be poured into so I can be poured out. I have the tendency to give until I cannot give anymore…and to work until rest becomes work… I have to remember that THIS moment matters, Jesus had a balance of rest and work, solitude and fellowship, and fasting and feasting—I am not the exception to that… I am to mirror it. I will be taking tomorrow off from VBS to rest. To be refreshed by the one who restores my soul, quiets me with his love, and directs my steps. Just as much as he directs my time here—I know I can trust him to direct my transition home and the path I am to follow there. He is faithful to keep his promises and bring them to fulfillment. My task is to walk daily in his love, faithfulness, and grace because the truth is that the radical life of obedience still comes one day at a time.

on the eve of my 25th...some highlights of my 24th year

 

In my 24^th year:

 

August 2011:

~90’s birthday party

~started working in Project DATA

 

September:

~bridesmaid in Lydia’s wedding

~went to the Puyallup fair for the first time in 5 years

~Aunt Marla visited Seattle

~hiked to and sat on the most western part of the contiguous US

~almost petted a live deer

 

October:

~hiked golden ears with Erica

~was a “Black Eyed P” for a costume party

 

November:

~prepared my first turkey for Thanksgiving

~saw a cochlear implant activation for the first time

 

December:

~got bangs

~Applied to go to Kenya

~made salmon for the first time

 

January:

~presented my artwork/photography in public

~mini-high school reunion at Nolan's wedding

~Made a calvin and hobbes esque snowman/snowshark scene with Eric and Tara

 

February:

~dinner date with Dad at Snoqualmie  Falls

 

March:

~went to my first rat city roller girls match
~started making a list of 1,000 things I'm thankful for

 

April:

~Threw Mom’s 60^th birthday party

~showed my aunts around Washington state

~visited Paulsbo for the first time.

 

May:

~raised all the support needed for Kenya

 

June:

~guest blog posted for the first time

~Jeni’s wedding celebration

~went to a “first Thursday of the month free museum night” at the Seattle Art Museum

~finally got a picture by the Bart Simpson spray paint on Alki

~Left for SIM USA

~went on a blind date

~flew to Kenya

~visited the Kibera slum, second largest in Africa for the first time

~ate goat, Ethiopian food for the first time

~made friends from: Canada, New Zealand, Switzerland, Germany, England, India, Kenya

 

July:

~fulfilled a childhood dream of holding hands and playing with a child in rural Kenya

~Met a child with HIV

~learned conversational Kikuyu, a tribal language

~saw chai plants, banana trees

~went on a Safari to Maasai Mara

~was in two places at once: Tanzania and Kenya

~saw: lions, cheetahs, wildebeests, elephants, hippos, monkeys, gazelles, zebras up close

~fed a wild monkey

~saw the Serengeti

~kissed a giraffe

~petted an elephant

~made my first cake from scratch

 

August:

~put a big dent in my “read all of CS Lewis’ works” goal (4 books)

~made hash browns from scratch

~helped a girl read up to her grade level

~found dairy free frozen yogurt

Routine, Unrest, and a Milestone Birthday

Life here in Nairobi has settled into a pretty comfortably full routine. Wake up around 7, walk 4 km to the school, teach those precious kiddos about Jesus, smile proudly when my reading buddies pronounce words they couldn’t yesterday and with increasing fluency and confidence, play with the babies, walk 4km back, crash and shower, walk to the closest stores, evenings of Bible study, volleyball, rest, repeat.  I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here so far and it’s CRAZY to think that if this trip had gone according to MY plan I would be flying home in 5 hours!!!  I am so thankful for the providential way another month came together. It is one of those things that I will forever have as a clear reminder of God’s providence and guidance. I can already see how it was so pivotal not only, obviously, for my time in Kenya, but also because of other ways my heart is changing.

Even though I have exactly one month left here, the planner in me can’t help but look ahead. I sit here futilely attempting to map out the rest of 2012—what will life be like back in Seattle? Thankfully, I work for an AMAZING family that I will continue to work with part time, but I know there will be more than that I need to think about—getting insurance, moving out on my own, the possibility of graduate school, and more.

 Maybe it’s because I was supposed to leave today, or maybe it’s because I turn 25 Sunday that these thoughts are pummeling my mind this week.  They are real questions to real expectations that I don’t seem to be living up to. But then I have to take a step back. I have to remind myself that yes I am going to be "a quarter of a century/halfway to fifty, etc.", but that doesn't mean I have to be a certain place. More important than the questions, is the reason I’m asking them and who I’m trying to impress or live up to. You see, by American standards it would be easy to see areas I’m not living up to—but is that who I really want to impress, who I need to prove myself too? When I take a breath, and remember, like my dear friend encouraged me “You are where God has you, you are gifted, you are loved, you are summoned”. Then the “adulthood success check list” fades and I remember that I am on HIS timeline, not the ones of the culture and people around me. My life is purposed and in His hands. Each day matters. He knows what my life back in Seattle is going to look like—how long I stay there, what ways my work with Autism will change, where my writing will go, and when I’ll start a family. Just as much as He planted the dream to come to Kenya and directed my steps here, he’ll continue to work out the next things in my life.  

Ultimately, the unrest comes from a lack of trust. I get caught up in the routine of the days here and forget that each one is purposeful, planned, and pivotal; in my life and in the lives around me.  I forget that His love is strong, that He knows what I need. So as I settle in to my seat by the window, sip my coffee, and sigh, I repent and remember…like Isaiah 30:15 articulates…I find peace. Peace in the promise that the ways Jesus has worked these past 25 years will continue to lead, guide, and sustain me into the next.

Trusting God’s Sovereignty when poverty’s face is a child- August 15, 2012

Before I even start with my reflections, I know that this is a formidable topic. Volumes are written about God’s sovereignty in the midst of suffering by theologians much more learned, eloquent, and methodical than me. Yet, I cannot let my youth or my inadequacies silence the reality of what I am experiencing and feeling. I have been entrusted with this time in Kibera, the largest slum in East Africa. It is purposeful. It’s not an accident that I’m here—there is weight and responsibility that I cannot shirk.

I have been walking into kibera daily for around a month. Maybe the reality is just catching up to me, maybe it’s the relationships I’m building, or maybe it’s all the car exhaust ;-). Regardless, I can’t ignore the tears that come to my eyes as I think of conditions my students live in- no running water, pathways piled high with human waste, trash, and streams of liquid waste. The intellectual knowledge of poverty, the statistics, the numbers, are so impersonal. This time in Kibera has changed that for me. Those statistics are paired with faces, names, and real stories of lost parents and broken homes. It’s one thing to know that hourly children die of hunger or preventable diseases, but its quite another when you send kids home from school hungry or a child you’re used to greeting with a hug misses several days of school because they’re sick.

Where does this collision of impersonal statistics and real children leave me? How do I reconcile the reality that my home country has an obesity epidemic while children around me go hungry? The materialism of the western world is sickening in light of the poverty I see. The selfishness and hoarding compared with the joyful generosity of those here who eagerly invite me to their homes that are the size of one room in my home.

Do I despair, hate my home country, shake my fists at God?

Or do I trust his word is true. Sovereign in all circumstances. That He is good and sufficient in wealth and in poverty.

Truthfully, he admits this disparity, says we will have trouble in this world. But that’s not all His word promises.

His word promises that he is faithful. That he sees the poor and needy and provides for them (psalm 34). He delivers them. He sends people to them.

He sent me. I am humbled that I am here..by the sacrifice and prayers of many back home and ultimately by his grace. The same sovereignty that sees the suffering around me chose to send me here. There is GOOD in this.

It is good because He is here. He is present in poverty. His power is made perfect in weakness. He hears the cries for food, healing, shelter, security.

He sends and equips. I don’t have the resources to heal the suffering here, to feed every hungry belly. But I do have His word. I have his hope. 

I have his hope that this world is not my home and that the hope of heaven is real—especially in light of suffering. The other day in class one of the boys who is around 11 years old asked me why we have to die and leave this world, why we couldn’t live forever in this world because he thought it was a pretty nice place to be…because his grandma died and he really wished she could have stayed. Around me kids sat up straighter and nodded in agreement—thinking of the people in their life that they’ve lost and want to come back.

I had to pause and pray, how do I begin to answer this? Father, how do I relate your hope to these precious kids—who have joy and contentment in this broken world?

I turned to Revelation and read the description of heaven, remarking that while this world has a lot of good things, wouldn’t death, as hard as it is, be a gain if it meant that by trusting in Jesus’ death on the cross in our place, that we could have the good of this world at its best, perfection.  Wouldn’t the pain of losing someone like a grandma in this imperfect world and the pain here be worth it if you knew the hope and perfect joy that awaits you? The boy responded “I guess I can live with that. It is worth it”.

And that, in light of the poverty that pains me is my answer. This world, the poverty, is not my home. The hope of heaven becomes real in light of the pain I see. It is purposeful because it points to Him and to heaven.

Auntie For a Day- August 13, 2012

I sit here sweaty, sticky, and smelly...not simply because I just finished a work out, but also from 3 days without showering after a weekend without running water. It’s totally worth it. Worth it to be surrounded by mosquitos, dusty roads, and at times uncomfortably hot. It was worth it to walk a few miles, take a bus, then a long matatu ride all to arrive an hour later at Brydges. Worth it to be uncomfortable to meet family. Yes, family.

The view from the new housing

Arriving at Brydges, a well-run, loving orphanage I was quickly “adopted” as “Auntie Elise” and had my hands grabbed while I was eagerly and proudly shown around the home—everywhere from the garden to the greenhouse to the new dorms. The children joyfully asked questions about my life and quickly stole my heart.   I couldn’t help the swarm of verses that flooded my mind about God’s care for the orphans, the abandoned, the broken-hearted, and was so thankful that I was able to see a glimpse of how He works that out—in places like Brydges. One of the sons of the families that are involved in the ministry remarked as we sat with a group of the kids that “as you can see, I have a really big family”—and I loved that.

one of the cuties who stole my heart

part of the garden and the greenhouse

As a person without siblings, I don’t have “blood sisters and brothers” and this was felt as a child—cue the summer months when everyone is on vacation. But as I’ve grown, my definition of family has expanded as I’ve seen how Jesus provides every need. I am so blessed by the close, lifelong friends (siblings) around me and the children who I am entrusted as an “honorary aunt”. Family isn’t just blood, it’s a choice. It’s a commitment and decision to come alongside someone and to stay with them when life happens.

Recently, adoption has come up a lot in my life, from extended family that's adopting, to hearing of other stories, as well as meeting these precious kids this weekend. All this has brought home my adoption—into the family of God, in a new way. I’ve had a glimpse of the choice that Jesus made to die for me, how much of a tangible sacrifice it was to enable me; I who cannot help myself, to be adopted as a daughter of God. Jesus chose to pay the ultimate price to love the unlovable, the destitute, the disabled and broken-hearted—me. 

It breaks my heart that the children I met don’t have parents, but then I am reminded that they are in the hands of the Sovereign Father; the one who died for them, loves them.  He sees their needs, shows them His love, and has adopted them into His perfect family. So, 7 year old self, You DO have siblings—the kind that will be eternal, and I am so grateful that I was able to meet some of them this weekend.

Paper Airplane Prayers

 
Today was beautifully full. I woke up to a warm Nairobi morning and headed with Jennie into the school to attempt to teach around 50 kids for an hour and a half about the Bible. Initially we didn’t know what to do but after deciding to wing it and pray we started off with a prayer and then gave the kids a chance to ask us questions about the Bible…instead of presenting stories and lessons to them. We wanted to know where they were at. What followed was a beautiful time of questions ranging from Jesus’s ancestors to the cause of HIV/ AIDS and Heaven. I was challenged by their questions and refreshed by their honesty. When was the last time I actually thought about those big questions of life…or looked close enough at the text to want to know the meaning of Moses’ name, the number of miracles Jesus performed, or contemplated what integrity looks like? I was humbled by their curiosity and willingness to ask.

After that time was break and the area around the school filled with shrieks of laughter, thundering footsteps, and balls made of bags filled with dirt and rocks and layered in plastic bags flew through the air. Yesterday I taught class 4 how to make paper airplanes so there were a few lying around the school and they quickly added to the chaos of play. One other part of the daily life at the school is the numerous children from Kibera who hang around and play in the dirt with anything they find lying around because they don’t go to school or because they are already on the short winter break. Today was no exception, as my kids played and threw airplanes the others looked on longingly. As I refolded old and made new airplanes I couldn’t help but notice the group of boys shyly looking over, attempting to fold old newspaper into an airplane, and their embarrassed smiles when we made eye contact. I shared the fact that I wanted to make airplanes for those boys too with the line of students waiting  for repaired or new planes, and several generous kids gave their own paper so I could make more for the boys. Walking with a fistful of planes I wasn’t sure what to say (especially since I speak kidogo Swahili) but all it took was a smile and the gesture of throwing it for the boys to smile, mutter thank you or asante sana. I looked on as they tested out the planes and giggled with joy.

Paper airplanes. They seemed so insignificant, like such a small thing. But nothing is inconsequential—these little gestures are bridges. They are a miniscule way of mirroring Jesus’ gift, of showing love.  Just like Jesus I want these kids to come to me that they might somehow see Him, and come to Him. Eventually the planes needed refolding and as they chattered in Swahili and looked on, a few attempting to follow my folding, I realized that this is significant because it is a symbol for me and brings tangible joy to them.  I recalled how a friend back home makes planes out of receipts and writes verses on them and leaves them at restaurants. Similarly these paper planes are a way of ministering for me. I cannot feed all these hungry children around me, I cannot replace their tattered clothes or mend their broken homes…but I can pray to the One who hears the cries of the poor and Saves them (Psalm 34:6).  So tonight, I am thinking of my “paper airplane boys” and lifting them up in prayer. That they may know Jesus- who is the bread of life, clothes us in righteousness, and is our Perfect Father.

Friday Jennie and I head to visit some friends at a ministry for orphans…it’s going to be an awesome weekend in Maasai country celebrating the birthdays of all of the kiddos at the school/orphanage in one big party. I can’t wait to see another part of Kenya!

Restoration, Direction, and Rest—July 31, 2012

As I slid into my chair-made bed and sipped mint tea with honey I felt this post coming on. Writing always sneaks up on me then bursts forth, tonight was no exception. It is the end of a second restful day as I try to recover from a sore throat and swollen gland. Its interesting resting here…in a place I can now call home but yet it’s so different from Home…no progresso chicken noodle soup or tv marathons for this woman on the mend. As I laid around and napped it was also an awesome time of reflection—on my time here and how God has worked…and also for how He’s making my path known.

Not only have I been sick these past few days, and dealt with all the exhaustion that comes from a head cold, I’ve also been a blender of emotions due to situations around me. I couldn’t help but think of “my kids” in kibera…how my being sick and resting is so different from the struggles they daily face.  Then, taking me to a completely different place…one of awe and joy…my church generously donated the money  I needed to stay another month…talk about confirmation! I am still amazed by the clarity of support and direction for this longer time here. I’m excited to see how September unfolds at the school and in life on the compound here.

On a different note…I’ve also been dealing with the reality of sacrifice this trip is. I’ve not been homesick in the “buy me a plane ticket” way…just in the “I want to be in two places at once” way. Keeping up with the news on social media sites is not quite the same. The last two days have been ones of reflecting on what I’ve given up to be here…comfort, a job I love, the Seattle “summer” and all that entails… and also, missing life events at home: babies being born, engagements, and a dear friend fighting for his life.

In a divine appointment I started reading “Radical” by David Platt today. He talks about how on the whole the North American church has made the call of the Gospel comfortable to fit into our lives, to make Jesus like ourselves by having the audacity to assume that “He didn’t REALLY mean for us to give up our families and lives to follow him”. In light of the things I wish I was home for, I had to look hard at this and realize my heart was torn…I still wanted this trip to be comfortable…something I felt like *I* could do and handle. Its humbling to realize how weak I am…how quickly a cold and allergies sideline me, how my emotions can easily take over…how much this trip isn’t possible on my own…the financial provision alone exemplifies this. I was also amazed to see how in His faithfulness, God has enabled me to live some of that call I fleshly shirk away from…He has brought me here, over years strengthened the desire to come to a place I don’t know, to give to people I’ve never met, and to  “forsake” my home and family for this season. It was another humbling reminder that HE wills and works. I was able to thank him for my sore throat and swollen gland because it provided the opportunity for me to rest, see His direction in the longer term here, and to “grieve” for the things I’m missing back home.   As I grabbed my 5^th cup of tea and continued reading…Platt further convicted and encouraged that the sacrifices we make are in the end gain—carrying eternal weight. He also painted the bigger picture—“non-discipleship”, as he calls it, “is weighty for everyone” (p.16). Thankfully this brought my thoughts back to the task at hand here, rather than following the slippery slope into self-pity or self-righteousness. I was reminded that my time here is so much bigger than me. It affects those on the compound, the precious students at the school, and all the people back home. The faithful service Christ calls me to is essential in the lives of many and for eternity. It’s the same for you. Jim Elliot had the right perspective that “wherever you are, be all there…live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God”.

In closing, I’m thankful for my sore throat…it exposed sore areas of my soul and provided the time to rest and reflect. Am I still sad about missing things at home; not being there for friends, being a couple continents and an ocean away—yes. But I know that just as much as I am called to be here, all here, now—the people and situations back home are just where they are supposed to be—in His hands.