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

 

 

Amazing America

“Good morning America how are you? Said don’t you know me, I’m your native son.”*

Over the past decade my wife and I have often played a simple little game when we visit friends and family in the States. On our drives as we come to our area we ask each other, “Could we live here?” It’s not a particularly complicated question, yet it is one that is deeply layered.

Currently we have just finished driving almost 4,500 miles in The United States of America. While certainly not enough to see a vast country, it does give a person a slight sense of understanding. From high and low deserts to fertile farmlands, majestic mountains to seemingly endless plains, towering buttes and deep cut canyons, surging cities and small sedate towns we took them all in. Driving in, along, and through tasting the flavors of the land. Much like a cinematic conclusion our journey ended just prior to a massive display of fireworks held on an auspicious day for the nation. In the nine state microcosm we journeyed there were massive amounts of perspective and ample time to play our game.

Upon our return I found myself feeling like a new colossus standing over the masses.** With sun in my eyes waiting for it to set so that flares could rise, I took a moment to reflect. People continued to arrive around me filling the field in front searching for a place to settle. Some arrived with nothing others brought family and meager belongings. All came with hopes and dreams of seeing the rockets’ red glare. With the tilting of the earth, the moving silhouettes became sharper, showcasing the people who make the land.

Multiple languages wafted through the air. Baseball caps, hijabs, cowboy, and sun hats adorned the masses. Hot dogs, snow cones, churros, sriracha, shawarma, and champagne were all consumed to meet a common need of humanity. Sounds, smells, and tastes so diverse yet one collective thread holding us all as one people. Unity in diversity. A unity so complex and full of depth making sense to no homogeneous way of life on the planet. For to have a diverse land full of diverse people while allowing for diverse thoughts to coexist with one another brings a richness enhancing the shared culture as it highlights its own diversity. A paradox to the storied pomp perhaps, however, in reality the mild eyes are still full of welcome.** Having lived on multiple continents, experiencing the richness of creation all over God’s planet, I know that the complex mixture of America, while not one of the seven wonders, is still truly amazing in this regard.

So yeah…… we could live here.

 

*  The City of New Orleans originally sung by Arlo Guthrie

** The New Colossus poem by Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
MOTHER OF EXILES. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

 

Bread Breaking

Himbasha, or ambasha depending on your region of Ethiopia and Eritrea, is a slightly sweet bread of celebration.

 

I recently learned the process of making Ethiopian himbasha. On the surface it’s fairly straightforward. A sprinkling of salt here, a good amount of cardamom there, a round pan to help it take shape. As is the case with so many things of celebratory nature, spending time in preparation is not the primary aim. Celebrations can be complex and intricately woven with tradition and nuances, but at their heart they all share one common goal.

In reality, regular interaction with this bread breaking celebration is a must in order to grasp the significance of the event. One of the details that often surrounds the Ethiopian sweet bread is a three round coffee ceremony with burning frankincense to enhance the senses. Celebrations such as this continue repeatedly, strengthening appreciation and the depth of the relationship.

My neighbor has just begun the physical parenting part of motherhood. While she and her daughter are currently in Ethiopia, most likely partaking in breaking himbasha together, the whole notion of breaking bread has risen to the surface of my consciousness. I am relearning the value of relationships and the bond that deepens when one spends hours in close quarters over bread.

Prior to years of living overseas if you were to tell me that I would one day spend hours partaking in a little bread and a cup of coffee or tea, thoughts of torture and wasting time would come to mind. In fact my first year living in a different country brought me nothing but frustration when an incredibly small cup of green cha and little sweet breads were brought out when I would gather with coworkers. My mind screamed of the list of things needing to be done. The constant glance to the clock, the rearranging of pre-made plans in my head, and the much too often desire to flee and do my own thing clouded my understanding. In fact I mentally rebelled so much at what seemed to be a lack of inaction that I was blinded to what I was suppose to be learning. Breaking bread with one another is not about the bread.

 

Breaking bread is about fellowship. Community. It is developing, cultivating, and strengthening a relationship.

From Hope To Freedom

Benjamin came home with a poem. Although he completed the assignment, he did it in such an unsuspecting way. Through blood. “Really, Benjamin? You wrote about blood?”

“Yes Papa. There was hurting and pain and it was everywhere. But don’t worry, it is finished now.”

After Friday’s blood was finished,

and Saturday’s journey completed,

the emptiness of Sunday rang forth.

His words echoed from our memories

our confusion dissipated to delight.

Death did not pass over, the bitter herbs and salt consumed,

the lamb was slain, the cup was passed, broken bread for everyone.

Promises remembered, hope held fast, the world took a collective breath.

Yet the tomb was empty and the world began to spin, it all made sense again,

Atonement had been made complete.

 

The hollowness of the cross, where our tainted blood was set free

The powerlessness of death, prisoners shouting forth in glee

The emptiness of a tomb, and joy unspeakably

Freedom so lasting, empowering, complete, for all eternity.

 

To Follow

 

Benjamin read the sign and questioned whether or not this was wise but after being assured by the guide, he followed. What once was beautiful green grass had turned to a dirty brown path from all the followers.

Some of us have been taught to disregard established signs and encouraged to make our own paths. Others of us are taught to always obey them in spite of personal thoughts that may differ. Still others are taught to differentiate, going back and forth, based on an intricate internal system of ethics. And each of us grows up thinking the way of life around us is normal.

I’m sure the migratory creatures of the world never question why they are compelled to propel themselves in front of the waiting crocodile. Going with the herd often feels wisest regardless of where they are going. Sometimes following for the sake of following is not right. Although the boys are growing up in a transitional tribe where normal is a mix of locations, cultures, and the typical state or condition of things is as solid as liquid, they are not blind followers. Like crossing zebra and wildebeest they do not question the moments of chaos and obstacles that may arise in their path. Chaos and obstacles are normal. However, unlike the seemingly blind migratory creatures, we can question to make sure we are not flinging ourselves in front of metaphorical crocodiles. Even so, being a follower can be costly.

Following through life’s rapids, magically appearing obstacles, and plummeting waterfalls are never fun. However, all are navigable with the right guide. When you know you’re following a purpose and headed in the right direction the departures and river crossings of life are merely normal. And as hard as it is to step away from the herd mentality, it can be done.

It’s been said that a smooth stone has endured many tumbles in order to be considered smooth. There are times when this is exactly how we feel our lives are developing. Our paths are naturally full of trials and obstacles, but it is in the chaos of the moment that our character stands to make the decision of which path to follow. Which guide we choose. The path may be narrow. The path may be wide. However, unlike the animal kingdom, we have a say in which path to follow. But without a purposeful end in sight it is nothing but a foray into the heart of darkness.

Outline of a Family

 

A seed was planted many years ago

An immature thought covered in naivete

Roads diverged, paths crossed

Time passed, events unfolded

Marriage began, maturation multiplied

 

The metaphorical bun was eaten

We cried out to God for a revelation

Show me what to do

God protected and sent you

A “son of my right hand”-Benjamin- came forth

Joy filled hearts, sanctity of life

 

Time passed, events unfolded

The ground opened, radiation flowed

We cried out to God for a revelation

Show me what to do

God protected and sent you

A little MAN “who is like God”-Michael- marched forth

Joy filled hearts, sanctity of life

Time passed, events unfolded

God shook us, migrated our lives

The dormant seed began to awaken

Planted before families combined

Nurtured enough to sustain

 

Ten years along an idea took shape

Discussions, prayer, lunch dates

We cried out to God for a revelation

Show me what to do

 

Paper pregnant, shifting lives

A life with a non-traditional beginning

God’s hands around you in warmth and protection

God protected and sent you

Joy filled hearts, sanctity of life

“God is salvation”, Joshua

“God will be with you wherever you go*”

Three lives intertwined with two

“A cord of three strands is not quickly broken**”

And life began anew

 

“Our God is a God who saves…Let God arise… His love reigns now and forever.” -Let God Arise by Chris Tomlin

 

* Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”-Joshua 1:9

** Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

 

 

 

 

Exploding Lights and Wet Dogs: Tales of Iron-Mama

While it may be true that a mother does so much for her family, it is equally impressive to note the things she survives. After putting in a full day of work, often much of it needing to be finished each evening, she comes home to a life that disregards personal time and relaxation.

So many things encompass your bi-vocational life and to note them all would be too massive and daunting of a task. So only a few character building memories are listed as our Tribute To Mama.

***

Exploding light-bulbs and haircuts to squirming boys.

Thousands of ants seeking shelter from the rains in your kitchen. Giving the illusion of moving walls.

Magical dishes that never seem to stay washed. Magically discouraging.

Dinners of disappointment while food sits cold in a powerless oven.

“So you had a bad day” loops nonstop in your head while nostalgic dreams of McDonald’s seems an illusive cure.

Red mud and red dirt. In spite of your endless hours of scrubbing, the boys are still tinged red and grubby.

Cat hair. Dog hair. Dead rats. Burning rubbish. It all leads to allergies galore.

Rain so loud all hope of hearing the person next to you is lost.

Wanting to feel special but the only one expressing any gratitude is a smelly wet dog.

Spiders dropping babies, mosquitoes hatching in the shower.

Clothes that grow beyond all comfort, oh for the want of a dryer.

Pot holes that swallow cars. Our van was no exception.

Sleeping in never seems to materialize with all of our ruckus each and every morning.

Snakes in the toilet, snakes in the yard. Termites flying from light to light while lizards laugh from afar.

Ants in our water purifier giving us a little crunch with our cleanliness.

Moths eat at your clothes and attack your headlamp when power fades away.

Cherished items inexplicably missing from store shelves. Survival without diet Coke is not a laughing matter.

Madness of drivers hellbent on meeting their Maker drives you to drink. . . frappuccinos galore.

Pressures from work intensified by our lack of listening and lackadaisical attitudes.

We boys try to listen, we really do, but there are so many things to distra . . . . . . . . . . . . (see what I mean)

Yet through it all you refuse to leave us to our own devices. You shy from the limelight yet your super powers are always aware. Always a bright light on our darkest days. Your love is unconditional despite who we are and the challenges of living.

Thank you for being our Iron-Mama. We love you!

Happy Mother’s Day!!!

The Ghost And The Darkness

Walking down the lane one late afternoon with the encroaching green foliage on either side my attention was commanded by piercing screams. Children in our compound yell for many reasons, but there was a distinction of fear in this instance. Around the lone turn on our lane came three boys yelling for me to run with them because there were strange noises coming from the bushes. “It’s a ghost.” they cried. With my skepticism on high alert I wanted to know more before I joined the little motley crew and ran.

Instantaneously my pragmatic checklist was activated, completing an analysis of the situation in mere seconds. This ghost was obviously terrifying a few children under nine, but was it real? I mean seriously, a ghost? That same day the boys had been playing in the trees making a game out of stepping on overripe guava the birds and monkeys had rejected. Could it be an animal the boys had heard that startled them causing panic to take control? As the boys’ yells grew louder and their steps drew closer I wondered where my oldest son was.

Recently there has been a number of lions wandering around outside of Nairobi National Park. No one is exactly sure how they made it out but reports indicated two visual confirmations with the possibility of four more roaming the surrounding areas in search of new hunting grounds. A friend sent a video of a lion walking down the street, amid blaring car horns and screams while multiple drivers called in the alert on their way to work. Then two weeks ago another lion sighting, a mere two miles away. They may not be the man-eaters of Tsavo but when it comes right down to it, even for the fiercest Maasai warrior, a lion is nothing to ignore. Earlier in the school year a leopard had entered the compound next to ours and killed a dog leaving behind footprints and carnage. Were these the signs of the ghost that the boys were screaming about?

I had passed two girls playing close to the outer gate as I entered the compound and I knew that two other boys were away with family. Joshua was with my wife and the adults were mysteriously absent. Now three boys were wildly approaching me yelling about strange sounds coming for them. Mental math completed, there was only one child unaccounted for. My oldest son. While my eyes scanned the brush, my head thought of logical solutions to the mayhem. Standing frozen in thought trying to make sense of it all I too heard the sound of the ghost coming closer. I quickly ruled out the wind rustling the bamboo leaves and the ibis calling out danger. It had a deeper sound to it that I instantly recognized as that of a mammal. The three boys ran past taking their screams and leaving me standing alone in the growing darkness.

Then from the shadows rode Benjamin on his bright blue bike calling out “Woooo! Woooo!”

 

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.

Three

 

Three chapels spoke I this week

It allowed me in depth the Word to seek

Stepping away with passion anew

Amazingly insightful Ephesians 2

Answering the age old big three

(Who am I? How did I get here? Where am I going?)

A gift of grace absolutely free

It spoke of Identity, Good vs Evil, Metaphysics, and Purpose

Simplistic yet tiered complexity in surplus

Eyes wide open and pushed to the brink

Another wake up call to keep in sync

***

Three lads parented I this week

It allowed me in depth the Word to speak

Stepping away with passion anew

To continuously love the little crew

Evil tendencies poured out from the three

And I remembered love unconditionally

To give free will yet show they have a valued purpose

Simplistic yet tiered complexity in surplus

Created to create a workmanship on the brink

A bond of love waiting for us to link

***

Three messages heard I this week

Saved only by faith they speak

Nothing in our power can make us new

Only the grace of God brings spiritual renew’al

Genuine faith exudes evidence of life abundantly

Together in Christ with impunity

Three parts one message taught I

Three lads watching my own demise

There but for the grace of God go I

There but for the grace of God go I