Let your heart be heard- September 23rd

So I JUST posted my previous blog, but apparently I’m a verbal fire hose this morning. Last night before bed I had a song that we sang at the volleyball nights in Nairobi stuck in my head—sing along, by Christy Nockels, especially the line that summed up my heart for my kids in Kenya which asks “Great God (to) wrap your arms around the world tonight, around the world tonight, and when you hear our cries, Sing through the night, so we can join in Your song, and sing along”… This morning the lyrics were still on repeat in my head so I looked up the rest of the song.

The part that prompted this post in in the bridge and it asks God to “let your hope ring out, let your heart be heard”. This struck me in many ways.

I want Jesus’ hope to continue to ring out in Kibera—to be a tangible source of security and joy for my kids who lack security of basic needs. I want them to remember the stories Jennie and I were able to share from the bible and from our lives that show Jesus is the constant and is able to keep his promises. He is the only hope that lasts.

I also want Jesus’ heart to be heard—I believe that anytime we are touched by a story, moved by an example of sacrifice, love, pain, and joy—you know, the ones that go beyond “I scratch you scratch” generosity, love that had to be fought for and is sacrificial, and the pangs of empathy of hearing of loss, as well as the elation we share when someone we know has joy—it  is a tangible way for us to hear the heart of our heavenly Father. He shares his heart in the fact that we were made in his image, we love because He loved us and in our emotional heartstrings being tugged by the human experience.

The next, almost simultaneous reflection, was that I am a part of Jesus’ heart being heard. One way I can be responsible to my kids in kibera is by sharing their stories, the way their lives touched my heart, and by being the tangible example of Jesus’ heart for the orphaned, the widowed, the oppressed, the suffering, the poor, the children He calls to him. Part of my heart is still in Kenya SO I can share it with others and BE the way that God lets his heart be heard. He breaks my heart so it can be poured out as an offering, as a living sacrifice. Even this difficult time of re-entry is purposeful, it is a glimpse of the Father’s heart and love. I will never look at the passages that talk about caring for the orphaned, widowed, foreigner, and the poor with the distance that I previously did. The things I will share in coming weeks are not primarily about my experiences—they’re about proclaiming his hope and letting His heart be heard.

Home is where the heart is…. 23 September 2012

I’m back in Seattle and am looking forward to my return to church this morning. It has been a whirlwind couple of days.  After writing my last post, I was able to get off the SIM headquarters and spend a relaxing evening watching football, having a good conversation, and playing with an adorable puppy—a great way to be welcomed back into America.

I am SO grateful for SIM and the short term program (STA). Friday morning was spent in prayer, then meeting with the necessary people to close out my trip—cue the health questionnaire and medical evaluation. This also entailed a meeting with the finance office. I knew once I returned that random things would  “get” me—teary eyed, nostalgic, sad, irritated, especially the next few weeks and months. However, I did not expect the tears that would come at seeing that Nolan (my old friend who passed away) and Kacie had supported me financially. That was tremendous surprise and blessing. Another aspect of the debrief was meeting with the heads of the STA and getting to talk about my time and hear their insights. This was exactly what I needed and I am so thankful for them—and for the Mexican food we grabbed for lunch!

After a couple of plane rides I was back in Seattle. As the escalator rose to the baggage claim area, my head and heart prayed that I would have the right reaction—one that was joyful at seeing my family and friends—because, in all honesty, then and even now I am torn to be here. I know the emotional and mental fatigue, irritability, and confusion are all normal parts of re-entering my once familiar culture after living in a developing country, but just like knowing my skin color would make me stand out in Kenya, the reality still takes you by surprise. I received a warm welcome and was glad to see my parents and a few friends. I was also blessed to come home to banana muffins and to the willing listening ears who let me reminisce and show a few pictures.

Saturday was a pleasantly busy day of attempting to sleep in (thanks, jet lag), and already seeing the reality of one of the re-entry handouts.         It related that while this journey changed you, others have not had the same experience and you cannot expect them to understand…but you can share what you experienced and it may influence one person at a time. This occurred when my neighbor stopped by wanting to borrow our truck, she related that she was donating some things and was realizing that she has too much stuff and wanted to not live that way. My dad articulated that “you are with  someone who gets that completely” referring to my early morning rant that my room was full of crap and that I wanted to get rid of so much of it.  After she borrowed the truck, she returned and thanked me for my honesty –for how I shared that coming home from spending time in Kibera opened my eyes to the fact that all too often at home I unconsciously put my security in keeping things “just in case” when I really didn’t need them—because after hearing that she decided to get rid of three more boxes. 

The rest of the day was spent going to my favorite coffee place with my dad and choosing to walk home. While I walked I was grateful for the time to clear my head and to feel like I was back home in Nairobi, where my days consisted of lots of walking. Later in the afternoon I was blessed to be able to share my fragmented memories with our Seattle “family” and was touched that their oldest, 4 year old daughter, wanted to hear my stories about the kids in “aprica” and understood the weight of sadness that they didn’t always have food. The evening was passed at a game night with a few friends and while it was slightly overwhelming to try and jump back into things, I was thankful for the insightful questions about my time and observations while in Kenya.  Driving back home, one friend who understands re-entry shock articulated that she experienced the same thing a few years ago and was thankful to learn that Jesus understands that we want to be home in both places that home is where our hearts are. With Jesus in our lives, our hearts, we can be home anywhere.

So today, I am thankful that my heart is torn, that a big chunk of it feels home in Kenya. I  don’t want to quench the part of me that wants to hop on the next plane back, scoop up my kids in bear hugs, and settle back into life on the compound with my Kenya family.  On the flip side, I don’t want to miss the people, blessings, and tasks God has for me back in Seattle, where my biological and church families are welcoming me and where I also fit. Basically, the past couple of days have shown me that it’s okay to have my heart in two places, and that a necessary part of my journey  is accepting that until heaven, I will never really feel home. This season is a tremendous reminder and example of that.

Back in the USA

Well I made it to Charlotte…leaving Nairobi Wednesday night (Wednesday at 12:30 in the afternoon home time) and arrived in charlotte 11pm Thursday nairobi time…1pm home time…16ish hours in planes and around 6 hours in airports…what a whirlwind!  (Please forgive this fragmented and jet-lagged post…P.S. I added this sentence after writing…so that tells you where I’m at mentally)

My last days in Kenya were SO blessed. I realize I haven’t written yet about visiting a school for children with special needs (an amazing experience and a place I want to return to) or about my last days at the school—which were So rewarding. Highlights: one of the girl’s mom coming to the school to meet me, a note from one of my middle school aged Bible studies girl telling me that “your advices have changed me to be a better girl”, and the marked improvement by the girl who on the first day didn’t understand a lick of English or Swahili (on the last day she said Hi and Bye).  Also, I was able to spend time with the girls I did orientation with and it was so great to catch up on our time and reminisce about how far we came in just 3 months. My very last day was relaxed, prayer and picture filled. I already miss my Kenyan family. Here are some snippits of my last days: (thanks to James Briggs for the school photos..he's amazing!)

 

My travel was pretty uneventful but I did see an amazing Amsterdam sunrise and met a church group from Atlanta who I “joined up with” while in Amsterdam. My flights were passed sleeping (surprisingly) and watching a couple movies. I did experience a bit of culture shock walking into the Atlanta airport-everything was so bright and clean…people seemed so hurried and busy…not to mention the cashiers looked at me pretty funny when I asked how they were doing (out of habit) and there were SO many similar food choices. Sadly, my taco craving will have to wait until Seattle…El Rinconsito…here I come!

 

Additionally, I was able to have time to reflect on my trip and all the things that I can already see have changed in me…I’m sure there will be many more things to note in the coming months…besides the notes above…I’ve also noticed things about America already…the fact that we are blind to the spiritual poverty around us but quickly point out the physical/economic poverty in other countries…definitely a log vs. stick thing…Yeah, Kenya has a long way to go in living out the gospel…we all do…but I was refreshed by the openness to talk about God, pray for others, and the plethora of spiritual words plastered on matatus and around Nairobi. Also, thanks to the public transportation in Nairobi, airplanes feel quite spacious...so that was a bonus. Personally…I know that I want to live more frugally and with gratitude for the undeserved blessed life of material ease that I have in America. I did nothing to earn or merit it…and the children I worked with did nothing to deserve the life of physical struggle they were born into. The truth is that ultimately we all need the same grace, the same forgiveness, the same salvation.  

Anyway…I’m off to shower, rest, and hopefully sleep past 3AM tonight J

Grace isn’t an expectation—September 16, 2012

“You hand me grace, and I think You’re handing me an expectation…and it weighs so much. I’m afraid to drop it, but the expectation to be perfect is heavier than I can carry”- Jon Acuff.

As I laid in bed, awake way too early this morning, thanks to my internal “be up before 7 to get to school” clock, I re-read a post by JonAcuff and was then led to the post in which the quote above can be found. I sleepily read until that quote leapt off the page. It is so true—such a fallen and finite perspective I tend to have. This “grace as an expectation” plagues my walk and is a constant temptation for my planning and accomplishing, list-making personality.

Especially now, as I attempt to mentally prepare myself to return home, I needed this reminder that grace isn’t an expectation. My time in Kenya has been a resounding proclamation of His grace. It has been a journey; full of lessons and eye-opening perspective changes. Unconsciously, I had been looking back over my three months here and had started to feel the weight of expectation.

Expectation to incorporate and be changed by this time, to share the lives of “my kids” in a powerful and life-changing way back home…in essence—expectation to prove that I would use the fulfillment of this life-long dream rightly.

I forgot that this time in Kenya was an example of His grace, not an exam that tested my ability to meet expectations and to prove I “pass the test of service”.

In the beginning of my time here I wrote that this would be a proverbial “40 years in the desert” for me, and now I see that in a new light. The desert time for the Israelites was characterized by many things, but one theme was the persistent faithfulness of God. He led them, fed them, saved them, and preserved them even in the face of their rebellion. Humbly, that encourages me. God will still be faithful even when I get home and have wrong attitudes, forget lessons here, and if I “move on” in ways I shouldn’t. You see, the next stage, all stages really, are examples of His grace because it’s all about His glory and story, not about me. It’s about making much of HIM, often using my mistakes, not in spite of them. I’m not saying I don’t have responsibilities with sharing this time in Kenya, but today I, and maybe you too, need the reminder that God is a God of grace. This grace is given freely and not conditional on my works. As I walked back from the market with a friend yesterday, we discussed how we hope that for each of us the time here gives direction. I still hope that, but I have confidence that God will lead my next steps with as much grace, patience, and wise counsel as each step that brought me to Kenya.

Providential Pain is Purposeful- The sharing of Nolan's story in Kenya

**see the update at the end of the post** 

After taking yesterday off I went back to the school today for Jennie’s last day. As we made the almost 4km trek to the school I fought off discouragement.  My thoughts waivered from “why did I really stay another month…I won’t be able to go to the funeral…” to…”you stayed for another month because it was clear you were supposed to…it came together faster than you could have expected so you would know you are meant to be here…it is purposeful for you to have two more weeks here”. Upon arriving to the school I was greeted by the staff and children warmly and with encouragement that they were “pole sana” (very sorry) for the loss of my friend. The morning was passed playing with the preschool aged kids and greeting the kids from Kibera who hang around the school. After a couple of hours I had to take a break. I couldn’t give anymore. I was emotionally and physically exhausted from the last few days and I couldn’t stop the fatigued tears. God, why am I here today? What can I give? I am spent…I am supposed to teach in an hour and I have no idea what I can do. You have to give me strength for the next minute, not to mention the next 4 hours here. After I dried my tears and took a deep breath, my heart was nudged…you can share Nolan’s story. You can share the hope of heaven, of Jesus, the truth that only He, not being a “rich American” can save you.

An hour later I entered class 7. I took a deep breath and announced that I was going to tell them a story about a boy. For the next five minutes or so I told the uncharacteristically silent and attentive class the story of a boy who loved his family, football (soccer), and Jesus. I told them how he was a good student and cared about helping others because he loved Jesus. As I stated that this boy got sick, the classroom tensed, the children sat up straighter and some began to cry when I told them that because he was sick he couldn’t play football anymore, wasn’t able to keep going to school, and that He died this week. I articulated to them that all those good things in his life couldn’t save him, only Jesus did. Jesus and his promises in the Bible are the only things that stay true to what they say when it comes to death. I told them that Nolan would have wanted them to know that you can trust and have faith in Jesus even when you are sick and even when you die. After I told his story each class was still. One class didn’t speak for several minutes and some children had tears in their eyes.

 I shared his story with around 150 kids today. After leaving the oldest class Jennie looked at me and said, “Elise, if these kids get nothing else out of our time here, they’ll get this. Seriously, I’m proud of you. They aren’t going to forget that. It’s why we’re here”.

As we left the school I was again exhausted but no longer discouraged. I was humbly amazed, yet again, that everything in this trip has been perfectly timed. I was supposed to stay this extra month so I could share Nolan’s story that proclaims Jesus’ ultimate hope to the children in the largest slum in East Africa who all too often look to America as the example of hope and a good life. Jesus wanted me to be here to tell Nolan’s story which proclaims his faithfulness, steadfastness, and hope.

UPDATE--I'm not sure why I never thought to post this before, but as today would have been Nolan's birthday, I thought it was as good as time as any.

About a year after this post, Nolan's family hosted a bbq on his birthday in his memory for family and friends. We ate and laughed and remembered together. Towards the end, Nolan's mom asked if we all wanted to see a video of him. We all piled into their livingroom and smiled as Nolan's voice filled the room. It was a recording of him speaking at King's Christian school. In the time he had, Nolan talked about how he was sick with cancer. How even  though he was good at sports, a great student, and had great doctors around him--he was still facing the reality that he didn't have much time, and that none of those things could ultimately save him, only Jesus could. As we watched-I got goosebumps and was amazed- here was Nolan, way before I was in Kenya, saying almost exactly what I had said to the students in Kibera. I had literally shared his story. Even now, years later, I'm amazed. I had never seen that video or known he did that talk. But God knew-and I did share Nolan's story. 

The Hope of Heaven—September 6th, 2012

I sit here with a heavy heart….and a new hope for heaven. 

 A while ago, I asked God to show me the hope of heaven—growing up in the church heaven is one of the aspects of life that is grasped as a term but its hard to have as a tangible hope. These last few months, since praying for a new perspective on heaven have been tough.

I didn’t realize that part of appreciating the hope of heaven is realizing the brokenness of the world.  I have been confronted with pain and brokenness on mainly levels in the past few months--friends struggling through miscarriages, rough changes. Especially spending time in the slum here—the poverty and heart-breaking stories, walking past foot high piles of human waste, and the children telling me, their "cha" to pray for their parents who are sick, need work, and for their broken families.  Not to mention, the past 24 hours.

On Tuesday evening, my Wednesday, a dear friend passed away after a long battle with cancer. It is difficult to grasp that the fight is over. He fought valiantly and with an unwavering faith that touched so many lives. It is also hard to know that I will be home in just under two weeks and may miss the funeral.  A week or so ago, after the facebook page related that treatment was stopping…I had a chat with God…akin to Jacob wresting….and was reminded that God HAS promised this friend life…eternal life. Selfishly, it’s not what anyone who knew Nolan wanted for his life. He was a young man of integrity who loved Jesus, his wife, his family, and his friends well. A glance at his facebook page from the last couple of days is testimony to the life he lived. Please keep his wife, Kacie, in your prayers(see their story here).

It in the midst of suffering, death, pain, and poverty that the hope of heaven is realized. There is hope because this world is not all there is. Heaven is heaven because Jesus is there. There are no more tears and death has lost its sting. While this has been a tremendously difficult lesson to learn, I am thankful that there is hope. The brokenness of this world is a result of sin, the hope is our Savior. That hope is tangible not in spite of suffering, but because of it.