Place of Peace

“I’ve been through the wasteland and it’s only a mile ago from here.“*

Recently I had the opportunity to leave home behind and venture southwest of Nairobi into land traditionally inhabited by Maasai. It is a short distance yet one that can feel of complete isolation. Given the increase of temperatures, dryness, and a myriad of cattle and other obstacles encountered along the rugged road, the journey can be intense. It’s a road of personalized specific location, yet one we all travel.

“And now it’s a memory, but it’s only a smile ago from here.”*

After traveling the path of pitfalls and potholes a slight incline in the road suddenly clears opening up into what at first appears to be a dusty little civilization. At first glance the tiny red particles clinging to all living things give the illusion of decay, however, upon clearing the vision, a broken down sign reading Kiserian can be seen.

Kiserian in Maasai language means “place of peace.”

Living in the desert is not so much about living independently as it is about learning dependency. A journey to learn dependency upon a life sustaining source.

Treks into dryness can be full of extreme hardships. The desert, with its abrasive and biting methods, has a way of humbling and stripping away at our core. Showing our perceived strengths as the mirages they truly are. A sojourner in barren lands seeks rest, life giving water, and ultimately a place of peace.

The journey is often one of extreme hardships, but in learning dependency upon a life sustaining source, it is not a journey of waste leading to death. Perhaps this was in part why the Israelites needed to spend so long in the desert. They stood on their metaphorical mountain top having seen the the awesomeness of God yet still seemed to miss the deeper more personal connection He offered. Mountain top experiences are truly uplifting and inspiring but many times it’s in the shadowed valleys of dryness and isolation where deeper dependency and growth are learned.

Whether or not we’re on top of a mountain or huddled in the valley of shadows, the place of peace is near. It’s only a mile or so away. Our lasting Kiserian journeys to a tree and exits an empty cave.

“Lead me to the cross
Where Your love poured out
Bring me to my knees
Lord I lay me down
Rid me of myself
I belong to You
Lead me, lead me to the cross”**

*Wasteland by Dakota Motor Company

** Lead Me to the Cross by Hillsong United

 

 

There is a Time

Swirling dust, dry cough

Dryness choking life away.

Brown attacking all things green until nothing wants to stay.

***

Darkness arrives, fear invades

An ambush on life by the wolf.

Violent aggression of demonic proportions released in our compound and self.

***

Crisping leaves, vibrance dies

Dismal life to live.

Receding waters death abounds there’s nothing left to give.

***

Dusty lines, destructive words

Two kings shout toe to toe.

Anxiety, hoarding, fear destroying, running battles keeping heads down low.

***

God is great and God is good

Yet precious life is lost.

When will we realize he’s our only hope, he’s already paid the cost?

***

Expanding air, flowing electrons

Lightning strikes the ground.

Rolling thunder filling all senses, the earth is screaming out loud.

***

Pressure builds, tensions rise

The ballot is once more cast.

Hope is blurred by drops of blood dripping much too fast.

***

Dampness materializes, drops accumulate

The rains have come with force.

Falling wetness coming daily creating a new course.

***

Swelling reservoirs, seceding lands

Opposing forces throughout the republic.

Green floods forth, giving hope for today, and an ulcer to the stomach.

***

God is great and God is good

Yet precious life is lost.

When will we realize he’s our only hope, he’s already paid the cost?

***

From bilateral to mono, calm to chaotic, a new season we’re hoping for.

From life to death, and death to life, the Sustainer of Hope we cry for.

 

 

Waking

“Looking through rose-colored stained glass windows, Never allowing the world to come in………..so dim.”*

Sharp stabbing pain followed by a flooding of color into my dark world.

“Papa. I want your eyes.”

Immediate tears washed my cheek before coherence collided with my senses.

“Papa. I want your eyes.”

A sticky little thumb and finger reached towards my right eye, in an attempt to pluck it out. Sitting straight up in bed with eyes wide open I see the events as they are truly unfolding. A son’s sincere desire to see through his father’s eyes.

May my own desired vision be mirrored in his eyes.

“Give me Your eyes for just one second
Give me Your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me Your love for humanity
Give me Your arms for the broken-hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me Your eyes so I can see”**

 

*Rose Colored Stained Glass Windows by Petra

** Give me your eyes by Brandon Heath

 

 

The Middle

“Somewhere between who I am and who I use to be. Somewhere in the middle you’ll find me.”

Sometimes the details seem fuzzy. Sometimes the words are vague. Yet somehow we know there is depth in the message regardless of the surrounding haze. The word carries power. So it was when I received a text message from Jacinta. Although details wallowed in murkiness the message rang out loud and clear. I had just seen her late Friday afternoon as she left my house having spent the day talking, singing, and cleaning. She had been in a particularly jovial mood and Joshua was happy to be held by her and dance around in delight. She had laughed at Joshua’s attempts for food and as always we spoke of several topics about God’s guidance and compassion. As so often I do I uttered the words “take care” as she left. Words intended to convey a sentiment of friendliness and support.

When the text came through mid afternoon on Sunday, I had to read it several times to grasp specific meaning or nuances of the words. When money is involved, and there is always a shortage of it, a text message can be quite concise. Straining to make sense of the message, the day seemed to slow while thoughts intensified their swirling. These could not be the words of the same lady who entered our house and lives each week. The author of the text seemed to be distant from the happiness I had last seen surrounding Jacinta. I checked with three people to make sure I was reading it correctly. Sometimes we can read emotions into words that were not intended. My attempts to make sense of the senseless fell in vain. Had her phone been stolen? Was this even her? There are plenty of cons throughout Nairobi these days and identity theft is a common pursuit by many. While helping was what my heart leapt towards, caution was how my hand responded. What do you say and how, or to what degree, do you help in a situation where life and death are part of the equation? In talking to Jacinta she told me through tears of how her son and oldest daughter had been kidnapped on their way home from school. Now they, along with 12 other children, were being held for ransom. Death was promised if payment was not met.

“Somewhere between my heart and my hand. Somewhere between my faith and my plans. Somewhere between the safety of the boat and the crashing waves…Somewhere in the middle you’ll find me.”

Raw bi-polar emotions, sickening churning stomachs, with heightened and frayed nerves can not even begin to do justice to my feelings, let alone those of a mother whose children have been kidnapped. Flurries of phone calls, prayer chains passionate in pursuit, faith in a Savior that is unwavering, yet desperately holding onto a hope that His will is your will. When you’re in the middle of selling your worldly possessions, inherited family land, and begging anyone who will listen for money, desperation starts to become a deafening voice. I’m sure that words of comfort without visible action can seem meaningless. Perhaps my words of “I’m praying” were easier to swallow. Talking with a mother the day payment is due, yet who is still desperately searching and pleading for money to save her children, is not an easy place to be.

“Just how close can I get, Lord, to my surrender without losing all control?” 

“Fearless warriors in a picket fence, reckless abandon wrapped in common sense. Deep water faith in the shallow end and we are caught in the middle.”

Finding myself stuck in the middle of a mother and her kidnapped children you can’t help but hear the heart crying out in pained compassion. In a twisted, albeit enlightening, moment of character development, I found myself stepping in to teach a class about how our actions, the fruit of our beliefs, identify and define us. Explaining how our character ultimately leads to our behavior, and our behavior will point either towards the true Word that heals and cleanses our hearts or else it will point to self-absorption, I wrestled not only with my words but also my deeds. Saying you love your neighbor and actually loving your neighbor are not the same.

How often do we rationalize our positions digging deep into ourselves? Do we wash our hands stepping away when the road in front of us seems more than we can bear? Talking with Jacinta it was clear that in spite of the wretched and inhumane circumstances of the place she now found herself, she continued to stand on the word of God. Her understanding that God had not left her side held fast. There are and will be times when we are all caught in the middle, “Between the darkness and the light.” It is not our words that will be weighed. Only where we stand.

“With eyes wide open to the differences, the god we want and the God who is. But will we trade our dreams for His? Or are we caught in the middle?”

***

Afterward:

All 14 children were released, including both of Jacinta’s, after a week in captivity. Please pray for her children and family as they continue to undergo counseling for the psychological trauma they have survived. The effects of being caught in the middle run deep and long.

 

All quotes in italics from:

—Somewhere in the Middle by Casting Crowns on their album “The Altar And The Door”

Say Something Serious

While creating delicious treats over Spring/Easter Break, the boys began to interview each other between sneaking sugary bites of white chocolate and sprinkles.

Michael holding an imaginary microphone out to his older brother. . .

Michael: “Ben-a-min. (which is his pronunciation when speaking quickly) Say something serious.”

Benjamin: “Jesus died on a cross for our sins and he rose three days later.”

Michael: “No. Say something more serious.”

Benjamin: “That’s the most serious.”

 

 

And since it’s serious, shouldn’t we tell everyone around us?

Imagine That

“The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”*

The cat in the hat escaped and was spotted at school. Perhaps a little imagination was needed to view this cat roaming the campus but with Dr. Seuss Week upon us yet again, it was not hard to do. The boys came home each day with tales of wackiness and wobble-wubble-woo. One might have thought that they’d turned the school into a zoo. Classrooms turned upside down and laughter took flight and flew. Fostering imagination with eating green eggs and ham, that’s what they do.

I once saw a kid show called Imagination Movers. I’m not sure whether or not it reminded me of my brother and something he might be involved in or if it just had catchy songs. In any event the show always seemed to have the premise of solving a problem using some form of your imagination. Now I have lived in societies where the use of ones imagination was highly frowned upon as well as societies where the imagination is greatly accepted. In our home we generally encourage the use of the imagination to solve problems as well as to view the world. In fact just yesterday Benjamin was needed to watch Joshua who was strapped to a chair at our table outside finishing his juice. While Benjamin sat on the chair next to Joshua I ran off to assist Michael in whatever difficulties were weighing him down in our garden. Upon my return, and with much relief, Joshua was still where I left him but on the chair next to him sat one of our cats. Benjamin was nowhere in sight. Standing there perplexed Benjamin eventually returned, removed the cat back to her spot on the ground, and sat back in his chair. Apparently he used a surrogate while he made a trip to the bathroom. Problem solved.

“From there to here, and here to there, funny things are everywhere.”*

Or perhaps the day when the boys got together and created a movie theater in our dormant garden. One boy used a bucket as a light so shine the movie onto the bushes while another drank “coffee” out of a flower pot. My first thought was the riduculousness of it all but then I smiled. Shame should not be welcomed in our imaginations.

For many, it seems, there is a belief that the imagination is needed when viewing Jesus or Christianity. Personally it seems to me that logic and reasoning are primary components necessary when viewing these topics.*** Imagination, however, allows the ability to empathize, sympathize, and to see beyond yourself which in turn leads us to compassion. Without these abilities how else would concepts like the Golden Rule* or unconditional love make any sense? Still other concepts, such as servant leadership, would be misunderstood, misapplied, and truly baffle the mind. The imagination. in all its God gifted glory, is potentially the closest thing we have to comprehending how order arrived from chaos. Imagination is not merely something to kill boredom. It helps us analyze, comprehend and potentially the most complex of all, see beauty.

To many, Dr. Seuss week is a once a year glorified trip down imagination lane allowing us fun in a unique way. Yet I believe if we think about it for a bit we can see into our universal gift our Creator has given. And gifts are to be continuously developed, not only to solve problems, but to see and live deeper.

“Can you imagine that?

When the sun stood still.

Can you imagine that?

Or a cross on a hill.

Imagine that.”

—Imagine That by Lost Dog

————————————————————————————————————————-

* Quotes by Dr. Seuss

**Golden Rule: “So whatever you wish that others would to do you, do also to them, for this is the Law of the Prophets.” Matthew 7:12 ESV

***Side note: God is the ultimate imagination mover. To have free will means we have to allow for the capacity of sin to enter the picture. The problem of sin is that it seeped into the blood of humanity . . . literally. Hence humanity’s worldwide need for sacrifice. To eradicate this problem it really is most logical to have a one time cleansing, is it not? If it began in the blood then by blood it ended and was completely cleansed. Problem solved.

The Bridge: Reflections

“To give a person an opinion one must first judge well whether that person is of the disposition to receive it or not.”

–The Book of Samurai

 

I couldn’t really say that I maintain a strong grasp on the pulse of my homeland right now. Like every country the beat of a nation rises and falls. Nor could I say that the politics of the moment and feelings of the day are within my grasp of knowledge either. Common sense has taught us all that news from social media is nowhere close to inherent. That being said, it appears there are some strong emotions mixed with unhealthy doses of fear permeating the atmosphere. While I generally steer clear from jumping into the arena with the big dogs to weigh in about my own opinions and thoughts on current events, this time I feel the need to share a few things I’ve recently reread.

1 John 4:18 “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.”

1 John 4:20 says, “If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother, whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen.”

1 John 2:9 says “Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates his brother is still in the darkness.”

“Our culture has accepted two huge lies: The first is that if you disagree with someone’s lifestyle, you must fear them or hate them. The second is that to love someone means you agree with everything they believe or do. Both are nonsense. You don’t have to compromise convictions to be compassionate.” –Rick Warrren

I realize that not everyone may agree with my opinion on different matters, however, the majority I think will find that we’re entering a season where mutual respect regardless of differences has traditionally been upheld. We can get into semantics later, but I think we can also agree that fear and respect are not the same. Christmas was the beginning of the bridge. It was built so that we might experience life without fear. A life that takes us out of darkness and revolves around a lasting love. A way of redemption shown to us not because we are deserving or without blame, but rather shown to us by the only God who has come to us and desires to restore a relationship that has been broken. Restoring honor where there was once shame. That to me is certainly a bridge worth pursuing and sharing.

“We love because He first loved us.” (1 John 4:19)

The Bridge

From straw to wood . . . cloth to nails . . . frail to power . . . infancy to eternity

The bridge to the cross.

From a silent night to the only one raised to save.

“Joy! Unspeakable joy! . . . Rises in my soul, never lets me go.”

–Chris Tomlin

The Bridge: A Prelude

 

Origins of traditions can be hard to pinpoint sometimes. Other times the initial event that began it all can only be disputed by the blind. For some there seems no rhyme or reason as to why things occur as they do, you just know you should continue along. Christmas traditions have a clear beginning with our family. Mainly because the boys were so young to remember or be active in anything prior to Africa, our traditions began when we arrived in Kenya. Prior to knowing how a calendar worked our boys knew Christmas was coming by visiting the annual Christmas Fair in Nairobi. An amazing event with great food, fun and support of local and regional organizations intent on making the world a better place.

After the fair we would look for Creepy Saxophone Santa in front of Nakumatt and see how close we could get before being completely creeped out. The “Santa”, and I use this term loosely, would be still and then all of a sudden jump to life playing a weird version of some Christmas song. Then without notice he would cease moving until the next random spastic movement began. Like I said, creepy. Once this was accomplished my wife and I would pressure the boys to sit on Indian Santa’s lap for a photo. I could never really wrap my mind around why it was such an odd site to see a Santa from India in Kenya (yes I understand history). I guess my brain is still clinging to ingrained North American traditions. Regardless this was our prelude to the Christmas season.

This year it seems Creepy Saxophone Santa has been replaced with Blue Nakumatt Santa. Other than obvious marketing reasons, I’m not really sure why the Blue Santa is here. I tried to ask him but he wasn’t at liberty to say. What I do know is that the Kenyan guy in the blue felt suit was drenched with perspiration and still creeping out little kids. The tradition continues.

Certainly some traditions are just for fun while others, like Indian Santa begin purely by opportunity. However, other traditions, like setting up the Veggie Tales nativity, are rooted in an uncompromising and unchanging gift that bridged all time. A prelude to a second birth.

 

Mimesis

Chills. Sweats. Nausea. Constant desire to crawl into a hole never to return. Been there? Many times this is just common place when you live in a country that sells awesome, but not always clean, street food. For the last six days I’ve been traveling the road of food poisoning. This in and of itself is not such an issue, although one I certainly don’t need to repeat. There is no pleasantness in this form of discomfort but it is livable.

This time was different though. The crawl in the hole part was much the same but the chills and sweats were replaced with a draining fatigue actively extracting energy at every moment of my consciousness. If given a choice I’m sure I would have just closed my eyes and hoped to wake at some time in the future, but there was no such choice. Between dragging my deteriorating body from one room to the next it was the driving knowledge that in spite of my present ailments, aches, and dare I say it attitude, my focus could not be about me. I was here for a greater purpose.

I’m sure my son thought I was trying a new teaching approach to get him to crawl as I regularly pulled my body across the floor towards him. After his initial staring at my attempts of mobility, he most likely thought I was mocking him, he realized there was a possibility of freedom if I ever reached him. No doubt he would interpret his cries as encouragement for me to get there sooner. One wretched day he seemed to encourage me a bit more. Seems he was desperate to be free from the disturbingly uncomfortable stench wafting into the air. Of course smell is a trigger point for all kinds of emotions, and it did. Then it intensified my nausea causing me to turn and crawl back towards the toilet. With my departure Joshua’s cries pierced louder leading me to turn back to him. And there it was, that awkward moment where you find yourself lying on the floor halfway between the toilet and the crib, reduced to the mere mortal who realizes they have no control over life itself. If there had been an observer I’m sure this would have been a moment of farce watching a grown man on the floor flopping like a dying fish.

As I lay dying, or so it felt, it occurred to me that it wasn’t just in my sickness that my focal point was skewed. Oh certainly it would not be pleasant to vomit on a child, even though a small child does not carry the same sentiments towards an adult, but how often had I truly and completely focused on his needs alone? Now in my incapacitation I could only resolve to devote more to him and less to me. Even in a small guesthouse with minimal distractions on an isolated hill and a singular goal, the self cries out for complete devotion. A constant battle of two opposing forces frantic in efforts to defeat and reclaim my life. One force a poison needing purging the other a requirement for love.

Before leaving Kenya I jokingly told people I didn’t want God teaching me any lessons through the upcoming experience. In my life, lessons from God often come after an uncomfortable understanding that I am not God. A simple little concept that anyone who knows me can clearly see, yet when I place myself first that’s exactly what I am saying. Humanistic actions, justification, and rationalization always seem to seep into me leading me back to me. And so I flop from God to me. Perhaps it was a lack of food for six days that led my thoughts to this point or possibly just the perspective to see the unfolding comedy as a tragedy. Regardless, I am glad for the lesson.

My son on the other hand, well I think he feels I should have got the message a lot sooner.

“So God bruise the heels we’ve dug in ground, that we might move closer to love. Pull out the roots we’ve dug in so deep. Finish what you’ve started. Help us to believe. Keep our eyes wide open.” — Eyes Wide Open by Jars of Clay

Although there are many meanings for Mimesis, most hover around the central definition of imitator or to imitate. I prefer Aristotle’s definition with regards to literature – “Imitation of life”