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

 

 

 

 

 

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”

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!!!

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

 

Don’t Wake The Monster

After being told repeatedly that his behavior was not something desired, the mother said in a stern voice, “Benjamin. What am I going to say to you?” The almost six year old sat pensively for a moment, cocked his head, and with all seriousness uttered “Bleh.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed out loud from where I was standing in the kitchen. Immediately two sets of eyes flashed their way to meet mine. One pair with a gleam of approval and a touch of playful mischief. The other pair had the look that you get from someone who says they love you yet nothing in their look is loving. Parenting is such a delicate balance. On one hand you get to enjoy the moments of randomness and discovery, encouraging them to go further than they ever thought possible. Enjoying the messiness of life and laughter of love. While on the other hand instructing that sometimes what is thought as creativity is not really creativity at all.

We have one son who thinks that streaking through the house is hysterical. He’s dramatic about it too. No mere naked running for the little dude. Oh no, he needs to make enough noise to draw attention to his marathon. Occasionally he wears a hat but usually that’s just an after thought. So where is the line drawn? When is it ok to laugh and let it go and when do you turn it into a teachable moment giving instruction on acceptable behavior? Maybe I should just let it all go and wait for Grandma to deal with it the next time she visits.

Sometimes a parent or teacher can feel like a monster squashing creativity for conformity. Sacrificing aspects of independence and pride for integrity and humility. It seems that even the clothes the boys have tells us to let it go and just be friends. However, truth be told, my sons are not my friends. They are my sons. Knowing right from wrong and acceptable behaviors are not something for me to ignore teaching. Having high expectations and holding them and myself accountable is not something to be inconsistent about. The real loveless monster would be to ignore such instruction in their lives. What they learn now will be the foundation they stand on later in life.

I will continue to enjoy every moment of my current world. A world where plastic dinosaurs high-five each other and the bad guys say “excuse me” and “sorry” after doing a most heinous crime, such as laughing loudly in an evil villain way. “Mwa-ha ha.” But deep within me I know that the monster of self entitlement and complacency waits for all of us just around the corner.

 

 

 

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”

Daudi

 

I watched you grab my sons, you tried to tackle them to the ground.

When you didn’t get what you wanted you hit the closest one around.

You understand the word “no”, it lights a fire of anger in you.

You may be five years old right now, but you act like you’re barely two.

You understand the reason for me in your life right now.

The when and why you can’t quite grasp, but you certainly know the how.

You’ve not been taught to use your words, aggression is your code.

You’ve grown up with survival of the fittest, might makes right is your mode.

I saw you bite my son today when you didn’t get your way.

But when it was time for us to go you begged for us to stay.

You understand that I will leave and it makes you rage inside.

Yet after you hit my son, I hugged and held you, your tears you did not hide.

There’s so much wrong and against you now, it certainly isn’t fair.

If I could, I’d take you home with me, my heart I’d always share.

On Holiday

 

***

Children’s voices rise as the rain falls on this low season,

Where the pitter-patter meets the crash from high tide.

4 degrees south of the Equator watching the sun fight her way through wet clouds,

A black cup of below average coffee by my side. . . on holiday.

***

Coconuts, a camel, peddlers spread out along the beach,

Pounding waves flex with restraint while onlookers whisper in awe.

Mosquito nets cover bunk-beds, a transparent fort for two boys,

Tiredness weighing bodies down, heavy eyelids, asleep during dinner. . . exhaustion.

***

Family walks to the sea with intention of adventure and discovery,

People pop out of resorts like moray eels in search of food in an Indian Oceanic smorgasbord.

Crabs, oysters, symbiotic relationships, delighted by eels feeding off the dead.

White sands, tide pools, palm fronds, and red coral. . . God’s Creation magnified.

***

Indulgence caked in luxury, lounging by the pool while the tide rolls in,

Serenity is hounded by disturbing winds revealing a truth in nature.

Huts of mud surround excessive consumption for the checked in privileged,

Two sides of symbiosis seem strained yet strangely coexist. . . unbalanced.

***

A dollar a day is sought after to sustain locals around.

A dollar wouldn’t even buy one drink for those in the compound. . . ah, holiday.

 

Yahtzee

“It’s hard to paint a picture of a whale when you’re still trapped in the belly.”

***

If you’ve ever played Yahtzee then you can attest to the indescribable feeling of having five dice all land on the same number in the scope of three rolls. Since 1956 people have been playing this game of luck and strategy and rolling in laughter. My family has been playing ever since my memory has been intact. We’ve played it across the States during camping trips and without fail Yahtzee always makes an appearance when family members come together.

Perhaps the biggest contributor to this being a family tradition was my grandmother. Gram, as my brother and I called her, had an uncanny ability to get all five dice to land on the same number at least once in nearly every game we played. What was just as astonishing was her surprise at rolling a yahtzee. She would wonder aloud how it happened, laugh, and inevitably roll another one before the night was through. My wife uses Yahtzee with her Pre-Calculus class to work out different formulas of probability. As her students have discovered, rolling a yahtzee in every game is nothing short of remarkably amazing. As was Gram.

Most worldviews will attest to the importance of luck and strategy within their philosophy. Perhaps this is why Yahtzee is still so popular nearly 60 years after its inception. Resigned to a significant amount of chance controlling your game play, absolved of accountability, yet holding out for all of the dice to align themselves just so in order to find gratification. I suppose it feels good to believe that a strategy of throwing the dice can lead to your own fulfillment. A view that it all rests on fate.

My grandparents, Gram and Gramp, while enjoying the simple game of Yahtzee, certainly did not live their lives in a throw the dice fatalistic manner. In fact the last words Gram ever spoke to my father, just days before her 102nd birthday, clearly attest to their game strategy, “God is great. God is good.”

Another strategic aspect to their worldview is one founded steadfastly to a cornerstone of freedom. My grandparents lived a legacy of hope built upon the cornerstone of Jesus Christ. With this foundation they knew that their hope would withstand hardship. Their hope did not change based upon circumstances. Hope with a clear purpose and end game. Hope that outplays fate on every turn.

And their hope has outlived them. It started in the past, sustained them in the present, and carried them into the future.

***

“Now your burden’s lifted

And carried far away

And precious blood has washed the stain away, so

…Sing to Jesus and live.”

Living a life full (full house)

“And when the love spills over

And music fills the night

And when you can’t contain your joy inside, then

…Dance for Jesus and live.”

“Untitled Hymn” by Chris Rice