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.

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.