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

 

 

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.

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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 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)

“Unconditioning”

Normally I’m all for feeding children, especially when they’re hungry and crying, but my youngest son seems to think that every time he wakes up he should have a full bottle of milk. This includes power naps, waking in the middle of the night during heavy rains, and other such natural occurrences that happen repeatedly each day. Basically, I think the kid just wants to go to sleep to eat.

Just the other day upon finishing his bottle, Joshua closed his eyes in an apparent food coma and began to doze. In less than a minute our arch nemesis of tranquility, a pair of ibis birds roosting in the trees above our house, screamed out in inconsiderate delight. Joshua’s eyes popped open, his head swiveled, and he saw the empty bottle next to us. While his lungs filled with air, his body tensed, and his fists clenched in anger I knew my novice mistake would have tearful repercussions. As Michael says, “I really don’t love ibis birds.”

I read somewhere that it takes time for a baby to realize that their stomach is full. With an angry screaming child in your arms time is of the essence. How do you get a closed-minded child to see that what they think they saw is nothing close to reality? Then as suddenly as it began, the siren ceased and the tears dried. And he smiled at me. I try not to over analyze things too much, but I’m pretty sure his smile sheepishly said, “Oh yeah. I guess I already had my bottle.”

Sometimes I think we get conditioned to give immediate responses and reactions rather than to see what is truly happening. For example one summer visiting the States our older boys saw their grandfather feeding Cheeze-Its to the dog. He may have even jokingly said it was dog food. Regardless the boys are now adamant that Cheeze-Its are for dogs. At first sight of the box on the shelf they cry out “Dogfood!” We see a fraction of the story and pull out our battle gear, dig trenches, and refuse to budge. I try not to jump to conclusions but inevitably I find myself reacting to a situation much like Joshua with his empty bottle. There are times of conditioning that are certainly healthy, such as after shampooing and rinsing, but to take a quick look at something and go into a screaming fit, well… how is this beneficial? I wonder, is this how we look to God when we don’t get what we want? Or does He see us as crying out in clueless inconsideration? With Joshua we’re working on more healthy responses, reconditioning if you will. Or as Benjamin recently told us, “If you put an “un” in front of something it will take it away.” Perhaps we could all use a little more unconditioning in our own lives too.

 

Welcome To The New

“But it’s no use to go back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” – Lewis Carroll

“Now here you are eyes open wide. It’s like you’re seeing things in a brand new light, for the first time. Let us be the first to welcome you… Life you thought was too good to be true…Welcome to the new.”*

“Now here you are, a new point of view. Now it all makes sense, why it’s the called the Good News. Let us be the first to welcome you…We’ve been waiting for you… Welcome to the new.”*

There are no words to adequately convey emotions and thoughts that dance through your consciousness when you are able to hold a cherished little one after a long wait. Knowledge of pain, time away, and sorrowful heartache melt into nothingness with one look from his eyes. An overwhelming sense of joy floods through the crevices of life softening even the mightiest and most callused. In short it is love.

A brother’s love, while containing all the thrills of being an iconic superhero, is deeper and more fulfilling when the relationship develops. Devotion to one another in brotherly love is not merely an aspiration but rather an action for us all. Yet this love is often pale when standing next to the love of a mother. Much has been written about motherly love being one of power, beauty, intimacy, heroism, and even majesty. The depth of a mother’s love is a testimony to be sure, but the love of a father stands alone. Part superhero, part nurturer, a strong tower. The love of the father is patient and never-ending. Like a true superhero, he has come to save in spite of our heartaches and wrongful choices that led to our near demise. Then there is unspeakable joy when we arrive into his presence and are held by our one true Papa. Welcome to the new.

Opening Quote taken from Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

*Lyrics and title shamelessly stolen from Welcome To The New by MercyMe

 

How Father Felt

“Come back here, you scallywag!”

“I’m not a scallywag and you’ll never catch me. Aa-ha ha!”

Riding bikes as fast as they dared, cackling with laughter, pushing parameters. . . oh, the boys are back in rare form. It’s good to see them grow in independence and brotherly bonding, but I couldn’t help but wonder where this new-found freedom will eventually take them. Not long ago they called on me to walk with them pushing their little bikes, ready to catch them when their wobble became too uncomfortable. Now as they zoom away from me, with the occasional fly-by seeing how close they can come to my toes without running over them, all I can do is wonder, in admiration and horror, as they discover their innately given free will.

They are learning to decipher right from wrong, however, with free will comes the ability to intentionally choose wrong. And they do. The younger more so than the older. With a gleam in his eye, I can see him weighing the options and deciding if he can live with the consequences. I go through a range of feelings as I watch this play out. Heart wrenching when they turn away, but pure joy when they return to relationship.

 

They know of the father’s love. They understand that they can return to be in the father’s presence at anytime they choose. They know they can not save themselves but can be saved by the father. They understand the father will come when called. They also know sin.

And so, here I sit contemplating how Father felt amidst echoes of “Papa look at me. Look how fast I’m going.” “Papa, I don’t need your help. I can do it by myself.”

 

Hearing Laughter

Such a simple question really. “How’s your day going?” I could have deflected but the truth always comes out, so I suppose I wasn’t too surprised when out of my mouth came the words, “Well, I threw away my wedding ring.”

As many family tales do, it all started with a sick child. With all symptoms pointing towards the nasty all-encompassing rotavirus, there was much to be washed and I was the number one person to do so. Finding little delight in the task and squatting down beside the plastic basin I focused on the task at hand. Yes, I know that in Africa the proper way to wash clothes is to bend from the waist, but the Asian heritage I’ve picked up won’t let me adapt in this way. Regardless, my hands were still slick from the detergent as I wrung out the various items and then found a nearby towel to rub off the rest of the slickness. Then the healthier of the two boys helped me dump the water down the sewage drain. Still healthy myself and feeling quite accomplished, worthy, and blessed, in spite of the contagious sickness, I picked up the ringing phone pleased with my efforts. Saying hello I noticed a white tanless band around my ring finger instead of the usual silvery metallic that was part of me. As my wife’s voice and her question sunk into my consciousness my mind raced with logical possibilities of what happened to the ring. With fading hope I reasoned that the ring was thrown down the sewage with the rest of the soapy water. It was the best time to tell her the truth.

What I was not prepared for was laughter. She laughed as I unfolded the events, but she laughed hardest when she knew it was not an unusually amusing anecdote. And that just hurt. Here I was pouring out my sorrow, feeling as if my earned blessing had been dashed from me, and all she could do was laugh. I just didn’t get it. This ring has lived with us on four continents and traveled twice as far. It was part of my confession of love and commitment to her that began when I picked it out in a crowded little store outside of Insa-dong in Seoul, Korea. The ring was necessary.

So after I hung up I got the boys and we dredged the sewage lines. Not necessarily the best thing to do with two sick children. We searched through the dirt, mud, and leaves outside around where I had washed and I even had the boys look inside. I thought of the parable of the lost coin as we swept the house and moved dust from point A to point B. Finally, no doubt frustrated by forced labor, Michael’s suggestion was to buy a new one. So knowing a friend who was going to Korea in a few days I quickly did an online search only to discover that this was not going to work. I dug out the promise ring my wife had given me upon receiving her engagement ring but it was impossibly too small. My last hope rested in a matching ring I had picked up in Afghanistan when I got my wife’s engagement ring. The lapis in it had broken years ago, but I knew I could fix it and upon her return that day show her that I was just as committed as ever. All I’m prepared to tell you is that there was a super glue incident and two of my fingers became one. After fingers were separated, the boys took a turn for the worse, and suddenly the ring was not a priority.

Now as I sit in a Nairobi Hospital outpatient clinic next to a sick child, my wife’s laughter can be seen in the right perspective. Yes, that ring held a lot of sentimental value but it was no more than an object to symbolize a relationship. Any relationship based upon symbolic objects and material things is not a very deep relationship. Relationships are complicated enough without bringing in objects to clutter your view and perspective of what really matters. I’m sure my wife laughed because she knew this already. The blessing was the relationship not the object. And the object was not the blessing, or byproduct, because of the relationship. How much more so with God. God blesses us not with things based upon our efforts or symbols of our commitment, but rather His blessing is His presence. And I presume there is joyous laughter when we realize this. In sickness or in health, good times or bad times, I am blessed because I am in a relationship with God.

Some time later Peter, our gardener, knocked on the door and presented me with my lost wedding ring. We laughed. In the African way, bending over and looking straight down, he discovered the ring as he was sweeping the dirt behind our house. Considering myself already blessed, I felt content.

Little Critters

As the phoenix rises from the ashes, so to does the mosquito from our toilet.

“Help! Help!” said the small desperate child from the bathroom. “I can’t go because it will get me there.” We all live with creatures. They creep, crawl, and slither into our lives. Creatures meet us in battle gear. Some are respected, others tolerated, and even a few may be loved. Regardless of their species, these little critters distract us from the harmony we feel is needed in our own private little sanctuaries. Without doubt they confound us and test us in ways we’re just beginning to understand.

Some critters fight back with poison that digs into our skin refusing to let go for weeks. They use the disguise of color and charm to lure us into thinking they’re not so bad.

Sometimes we marvel at how clever we are when we turn one critter against another. Creating a hierarchy of toleration and perhaps even dependence.

 

Little critters, much like sin, flood into our lives ripping apart the cleanliness and order we attempt to maintain. Occasionally we see what is happening, learn from the situation, and take corrective measures. Take our dog Buddy for example. When that foolish dog is given something to eat he immediately takes it from my hand and begins chewing. Yet when he sees that there is the possibility of more he drops it from his mouth with dissatisfaction. Plenty of food on the ground right at his paws, even show him my empty hands, yet all he can do is whimper and salivate at what is never to be. Certainly don’t want to live my life like Buddy. Now I’m not saying we’re all dogs, but humanity isn’t all that far from this image sometimes.

I’ve lived with little critters all my life but somehow my current home in Kenya seems to be teeming with the little terrors. The boys help me hunt down lizards that make their way in the house. In fact Michael is so keen on this activity he calls it his lizard safari. Ants that bite, beetles that stink, caterpillars that are poisonous, and of course everything in the rat family, just to mention a few. They’re everywhere!

Like an iceberg the critters we see are a mere fraction of the whole. Just imagine all creatures great and small around us that we can’t see. Creeping. Crawling. Hiding. Slithering. And on that note, our doors are open for anyone, especially grandparents, wanting to come and visit.  Just mind the little critters.

Fruit Cakes Go Bananas

“You, who are on the road, must have a code that you can live by.”

Bananas are a big deal at our house. We eat them, catch the flies that love to inhabit them and our home, as well as play games and discover life amid the trees. Momma has also been known to send the boys out to run around the dozen or so trees when they are too squirrelly and just need to release their energy in a more productive manner. The boys and I do what we can to nurture the trees and little sprouts we have in our yard waiting patiently as time passes. In gentleness we cultivate, observe as they mature, and then share the yellow goodness. Most recently the boys have been using the bananas from our trees to make banana bread. They have then passed it out to workers at school, gate guards, and neighbors. Of course they have eaten their fair share finding reward in their labors. As new bananas ripen we moved on to zucchini bread. In generosity I was given untold amounts of the green vegetable and after giving away as much as possible there was still an amount worthy of keeping the peace in a small village. Adding pineapple to the zucchini a fruit cake was created and soon turned out to be a favorite at our house and with our nighttime gate guard.

Currently we find ourselves inundated with passion fruit. While these purple pleasures greatly enhance smoothies and homemade ice cream, we’re receiving way too many to enjoy them all by ourselves. There’s more reward in sharing and being given so much without sharing seems wrong. Almost as soon as new ones ripen they are given away. Neighbors and friends aren’t running the other way when they see us coming with yet another bag of fruity creations. I would have thought they would lock their doors and pretend not to be home after all the sharing of fruit but by all accounts they appear to be joyous. I like to think their smiles are expressions of thankfulness, however, in all honesty I think people are just relieved to get a gift from the boys that isn’t a dirty rock or termite infested stick recently found in the dirt.

Benjamin finds this process of cultivate+ plant+ water+ harvest = give away to be rewarding and sustaining. He often can be seen prancing around doing a banana dance after seeing the fruit received by others. Michael, still in the learning process, lacks a bit of self-control wanting to consume most of them on the spot saving only a few for loved ones. It’s good to be faithful to the family but he seems to have missed out on last year’s VBS message about the fruit of the spirit. While neither boy, including their Papa, can claim perfection on showing all fruity Christian attributes, great efforts and attempts are being made to be passion filled living fruit cakes. Much like being given an abundance of fruit and letting it rot instead of passing it on we don’t really have fruit of the spirit if we keep it all to ourselves. Is the News really Good if we don’t pass it along? We are called to step out and share wholeheartedly the over abundance of our own fruit cultivated relationship.

“Teach your children well.”

The new year has only begun and most of us would like it to be better than the previous year. Intellectually we understand that for change to occur we need to take an active part by beginning with ourselves. And so, as we make every effort to pass out our fruit, professing that love isn’t really love unless it is given away, I can’t help but notice how the boys get more excited every time they give out more fruit. Those lads start bouncing around, visibly full of joy, and truly going bananas.

2015 can be the year of the fruit cakes.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,  gentleness, self-control…” –Galatians 5: 22-23

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Song lyrics taken out of context from Teach your Children Well by Graham Nash

Save The Day Man

“Everyone wants to save the world, but no one wants to help mom do the dishes.” P.J. O’Rourke

What ever happened to our exuberant audacity to dream of becoming superheroes? Did we question our true identity or turn our view inward? Or perhaps we all realized that we don’t have the capability to save humanity and be the hero of the world.

My three-year old son Michael, or Save The Day Man as he refers to himself, has all the hallmarks of humanity. He’s mastered tools, learned how to maneuver his way through social obstacles, is conquering abstract symbols for higher meaning, and is adapting to his ever-changing world. Fiercely independent, full of character, and dripping with pride. Oh, and he has a cape giving him courage and a belief of being super. As independent as he is, he still has an innate desire to be in a relationship, especially when the isolation of darkness wraps around him. Desperately trying to maintain control and dictate his own terms, he still seeks out my affection.

What’s sad is watching him try to come to me when the power is off at night. Streetlights are but a pipe dream, the moon is obscured by trees, and all other man made sources of illumination are beaten back by the night. The blackness is so intense that there is literally no light to navigate the halls of our little house. Yet still he attempts to make his way to me through the murkiness. Last night was no exception. Michael was found standing in the corner of a room, lost in the iniquity of darkness, crying out for light.

In spite of our best attempts to save ourselves God’s love had to come to us, meeting us, exactly where we are. “Not because of who I am, but because of what You’ve done. Not because of what I’ve done, but because of who You are.”

Jesus answered him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one goes to the Father except through me.” — John 14:6

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Song lyrics quote: Who Am I by Casting Crowns