When Rains Come

“If the rain comes, they run and hide their heads. They might as well be dead. If the rain comes…

Rain, I don’t mind…”– Rain, The Beatles

***

I don’t mind it because it initiates the sound of thousands of termites flying to their death. Rain brings life and death.

It’s easy enough to appreciate a little rain when we’re ready for it. Acknowledging the positive merits from a distance, admitting that it is a necessary part of life, and singing its praises after the fact when benefits are obvious to all. However, when caught by surprise standing out in a downpour with seemingly nowhere to turn, very few appreciative words seem to flow out the mouth. The boys have gotten good at reading the sky and knowing when to come in to hide away. Although there are times they misread the signs and can be seen running helter-skelter towards the house screaming, “Rain! Help Papa! It’s a hard rain!”

When the boys say “hard rain” they know what they are talking about. We may not live in the part of Kenya that has rainforests, but our 210 litre (55 gallon) rain barrel can fill up as fast as it takes to brew tea in one of those hard rains. This type of rain hurls itself at the ground with such massive force that mud splatter reaches the height of our mischievous three-year old. And of course the deafening noise from this rain as it beats down on our tin roof will leave all verbal communication meaningless. If we had more than two rainy seasons a year I think we’d all learn sign language. When the rains come life is altered.

Recently Benjamin’s class was out on the pitch doing pre-school PE skills, such as not falling down, when one of these hard rains surprised everyone. A few kids curled up in a fetal position, however, the majority of the class ran screaming towards the nearby covered court. Amidst the zigzagging high-pitched shrieks of the panicked, a lone walker stood out. The walking child didn’t appear to enjoy the pounding wetness any more than the others, but all his attention seemed to be given to what came after the rain.

It is often in the downpours of life that our actions show how our relationship with Christ has truly developed. These hard rains may pound us down but they also bring us the opportunity to grow closer to God as well as to use the moment to give Him the glory He is due. Sometimes we’re frantic with our own efforts to escape or survive on our own. Running, shrieking, fearful, and focused on the problem at hand as if it were the only thing worthy of our attention. Then there are those who seem to walk through the rain. Deliberate, steady, and ultimately focused on the shelter itself rather than the rain.

Hard rains, in all their unpleasantness, can be used as a litmus test to show us our true dependency on Christ. It’s always easy to be a follower in the sunshine but when dark clouds roll in, lightning flashes, and our friends run off leaving us standing alone in the cold rain it’s often a different story. I admit I have been known to do a little shrieking from time to time, but after watching that child walking in the rain, I know that the comfort and glory does not come in my own attempts to run through the rain but rather my walk with Christ when rains come.

“So tell me, what’s a little rain?” -MercyMe

Fine, Thank You. And You?

“The body of a man is very small compared to the spirit that inhabits it.” — African oral tradition

Many years ago as I began teaching English in Japan I came across what I felt was a frustratingly humorous cycle of discourse. Following the prescribed curriculum students would pair off and practice their foreign language skills.

Student A: How are you?

Student B: I’m fine thank you. And you?

Student A: Fine, thank you. And you?

Student B: Fine, thank you. And you?

And so the oral language practice would continue, caught in an endless cycle, until the teacher intervened. An interesting cycle firmly engrained in the English classrooms I saw at the time.

Currently I have observed a similar cycle in Kenya. Just last week I asked a man I interact with on an almost daily basis, Habari yako? (How are you?) As he shook my hand he smiled and replied Nzuri sana (Fine, thank you). Knowing several of his children were home suffering through malaria I inquired about their well being. His reply was “Good Good. Nzuri sana.” Not necessarily the response I would have given but he seemed quite positive that all was well.

I realize that culture, development and depth of the established relationship, as well as basic protocol of greetings plays a large part in the nzuri sana, but I also see a positive attitude that underscores the words when said to someone of any familiarity. Almost as if their hope in being fine comes from something higher than the present.

For the past three months, at least one family member has been sick beyond the mere common cold. Having a cold or random African virus is part of life. Sharing it with the ones you love is expected. However, being beaten down by the same virus for over a month or rushing your child to hospital, with a fever spiking over 104’F (40’C) and refusing to lower, is not a time I would use the words nzuri sana. Yet sitting on a hospital bed, after being screened for Ebola and malaria with a very hot and lethargic Michael, the doctor explained his severe bacterial infection concluding with, “He’ll be fine.”

My immediate thought, perhaps with heavy American father undertones was, “How do you know!!? The medicine for his fever has barely lowered it and you haven’t even started any antibiotics. How do you know it is fine?” I realize I’m not a doctor but even I know that sustaining a fever of that magnitude is not healthy. Yet, “all is fine” seemed to be the attitude being conveyed to me. And my reply to the doctor was “Good Good. Asante sana.” (Thank you).

In reflection, as my pen moves across the paper on a beautiful day with no power, I know that nzuri sana is truly the right attitude to proclaim. Currently Benjamin’s fever is beginning to rise, Michael’s antibiotics appear to be working, my wife is exhausted and passed out from battling her own virus, and my visiting mother-in-law is coughing. My own cough is muffled from my loss of voice three days ago yet my heart and soul are working to call out nzuri sana, and mean it. My vision can not be based on the present. My attitude should not be self-centered. So often the little issues, ills, and struggles of living take on a primary role in our responses, perspective, and attitudes. To believe and proclaim that my hope is in the Lord, the God of my salvation who I lift my soul up to (Psalm 25), then shouldn’t my attitude and lifestyle reflect it? Technically the Swahili word Habari means “news” and isn’t that the main purpose for exchanging greetings in the first place? So through the trials and frustrating cycles of illness I choose to have my eyes on the bigger picture, until the Teacher intervenes, saying, “I’m fine…with my soul”?

“…though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

It is well with my soul,
It is well, it is well with my soul.”

-It is well with my soul by Horatio G. Spafford

Country Roads

Recently spent a day traveling the county side in search of life outside of Nairobi. The bus jolted at all the wrong times and the photos were never quite what I wanted but I still found myself singing…. “And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

So amazing to live in a country of such vast diversity.