Sage

School events can often leave a person attending with a mix of emotions. Our recent middle school lock-in was one such occasion. Team building games, lip syncing, fireside chats with marshmallows, high energy, and way too much running, seemed to be the order of the night. One activity in particular gave cause for pause.

It was an activity where students ran around seeking information and advice from one “sage” to another. The activity took students from one side of the campus to another resulting for many in exasperation, frustration, and irritation because of the demands of the “sage”. There were sages that required perfection before they could be approached. Other sages required good works and right attitude before passing judgement. Another sage even asked students to earn favor by completing tasks to advance their status. As the evening progressed many students began to piece together the fact that God is not a demanding sage with a list of do’s and don’ts for us to follow. In fact God is an ever-loving father, loving us unconditionally, in spite of our failing attempts to please him. Salvation does not come from following a list of requirements or earning favor, but rather belief in Jesus Christ as God who came to save us. No bells to ring or hoops to jump through. Just a relationship to live. A relationship built upon grace that does not leave us in exasperation or frustration.

So many discussion points that night. So many things to consider. So many discussions yet to come. 

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!”

 

All Because

“Papa. It’s been 28 years since your bellybutton problem. That makes you 45.”

“What? Why are you up? It’s not even six.”

“Papa. I just wanted you to know.”

“What are you talking about? Ugh. Go back to bed. It’s too early.”

It was then that I noticed a different little boy, wide-eyed, lying next to me.

“You’re awake. Get up! Get up! Let’s get some juice.”

Inside my head, it went something like this, “AHHHHH!”

Setting aside resentment against my wife who seemingly slept blissfully beside me, I forced myself out of bed, as a little one helped by pushing my back and a bigger one pulled on my arm. Morning is never as enjoyable as I would wish. Stepping out of the bedroom I am met by another child, saying he couldn’t sleep anymore since it was light outside and obviously the day was well underway. To say there was light outside would be a gross exaggeration. I think there was one, earliest of early birds which was just beginning to tune its song for the day stretching in its nest as the light was nothing more than the faintest of faint hazy glowing embers of pre-brightness. This is not the morning I had envisioned during spring break. Or any other day for that matter. I consider it less than joy to be up at this time of what some call “day” but never-the-less, up I must be.

Having three different sons with incredibly different sleep needs I find it a challenge to constantly be patient, kind, and not jealous of my sleeping wife. In all honesty, it’s hard. Well, actually hard doesn’t even come close. It’s a challenge to say the least, a chore to borrow a term from an older generation, and a daily choice to make. But isn’t that what real love is made from?

Now I’m not trying to boast and I certainly don’t want to come across arrogant as to say I have it all figured out, but it seems to me that love is a challenge sometimes. It is a daily chore. And it must be a constant choice. Throw in attitude, action, and behavior into the mix and love is something that is clearly in a different realm from the emotion based phrase, “I love pizza.” I have nothing against pizza but when our own personal emotional enjoyment of something, or someone, is the driving force behind our actions and behavior, we’re not talking love anymore.

Could you even imagine if Jesus decided he didn’t feel like hanging on the cross? To hang on the cross knowing there will be suffering. That he must bear all things without boasting. Intentionally choosing to endure such agony without being provoked. He chose to get up out of his comfort zone, meet us with all our unique needs, and still love us by putting us first. Now that’s a choice. That’s love.

Kind of puts into perspective my whiny little feeling based mornings as they really are. Struggles of self-centeredness. Yep, it’s that frustratingly resentful feeling, the beginning of irritation, when my self-centered world collides with the needs of others. There’s no falling out of love. Just a choice between self or others. I think that’s what the real action, attitude, and behavior are all about. A battle to see who has importance.

So, although it may be a challenge and a chore at times, I will constantly choose to love my family, even when they think a cricket is the starting sounds of morning. Striving to have the right attitude so that my actions will be the real indicator of my love, thereby showing a pattern of behavior that rejoices to everyone of the One who is True Love.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. — 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

 

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.

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.

 

 

I Need a Breakdown

Time hung motionless in mid-air, while barreling onward at the same time. Confusion cleared as clarity cascaded upon the scene. To everyone present, it was obvious that a collision was in process. Gasps of breath by all involved as metal collided with metal. The slamming of one vehicle into another. It was a breakdown of all things harmonious.

Adrenaline coursed, while a crowd gathered and pushed all participants towards unhealthy confrontation. Strangers and friends stepped out to console. Onlookers gawked, emotions ran high, police arrived, and vehicles limped to the side of the highway. Police reports, cultural differences, and complicated conversations. It was a breakdown of all things comfortable.

“Hello this is roadside services.”

“Yes, I need a tow truck”

“Oh, you need a breakdown?”

“No. I’ve already had one. I need a tow truck.”

“So are you in need of a breakdown?”

“I have a breakdown. I need a tow truck.”

“Do you have a breakdown already, or do you need one?

“I’ve had a breakdown and am in need of a tow truck to tow my car.”

“So you would like us to send you a breakdown?”

“You’re giving me a breakdown. I need a tow truck.”

“Oh, alright. I’ll give you a breakdown to tow your car.”

“What?”

Apparently, in Kenyan English a “breakdown” is a tow truck. Which would have been good to know before my breakdown. And so, after much anticipation, and in sincere thankfulness, I received my breakdown.

So many lessons one could pull from this incident.

“…give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” 1 Thessalonians 5:18

 

My Shepherd

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures

He leads me beside still waters

He restores my soul.

He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.

***

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me;

Your rod and your staff they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;

you anoint my head with oil,

my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Psalm 23

A Maasai perspective

 

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

 

 

Don’t Put Stickers On The Cat

 

Do you ever see what you’re saying? I mean really stop and soak in the things that come out of your mouth, then pause and reflect upon what you’ve just said? I’m not entirely sure what this communicates about myself, however in the past week I’ve heard unusual phrases uttered, such as “Don’t put stickers on the cat.” bursting forth from my mouth. It seems common sense to me that one should not put sticky adhesive things all over a hairy creature, yet those were the words I heard myself say. I can concede that curiosity was the motivating force behind the sticker scenario, but what about this phrase?

“Don’t jump on your brother’s head.”

And how many times must it be said before the message is understood? Apparently, my attempts to leave a lasting impression are not readily grasped. Ok, I’ll admit, the jumping was probably more about curiosity again. Or perhaps, “Don’t put the diaper pail on your head. It’s not a helmet.” Or “Don’t stretch out your brother’s underwear. Get it off your head.”  Or “Don’t put the lollipop back in your mouth.” after it fell sticky side down in the ant infested dust. And then there’s yesterday’s fun little exchange, “Don’t talk about poop in public.” Michael’s retort, in much too loud of a voice was, “But Papa. You’re talking about poop right now.” We were standing in the middle of the grocery store with a plethora of people around us watching out of either curiosity or some strange sense of humor. Or both.

As I hear what I’m saying, I see what I’m communicating. Naturally, my intentions are to instruct and keep the house from falling apart, but I’m not sure my intentions are as visible as I think. Of course if one should fail to notice a pattern there is always evidence of the sickening realization that the message was misinterpreted when you hear your own words boomerang upon you or others.

“Joshua. The Bible says to listen to your elders. I’m your elder. So don’t move around so much. And don’t take my pillow. And don’t keep pulling the blanket.”

See the theme? At least Michael got a little rationale woven into the message, right? He took the theme “Don’t” that I provided, and polished it with a little biblical wording. Given his tone and delivery I find it hard to believe that he was truly trying to better his brother with instruction on the proper way to go to sleep. Furthermore, I seriously doubt the two-year old learned anything other than “don’t” from that little interaction. All the right wording does nothing to change the motives that lie underneath the surface.

“But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person.” Matthew 15:18

“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Psalm 51:10