Wonder Web

 

Most of my family’s outdoor walking or hiking in Kenya is limited to well known paths and pre-selected locations in the highly visible savannah. After all, with animals that can eat you running around looking for lunch, adventuring off the beaten track is not very wise. Arriving at my parents’s house in the Midwest I saw the opportunity to help my boys see a different kind of trekking and a different kind of nature.

Finding a wooded trail along the bluffs of the Mississippi River we set out for a short adventure. It wasn’t long before all three boys kept insisting that I walk first. After making sure they knew that a deer would not jump out and eat them, I led the way. It wasn’t long before I realized why.

I kept running into a slightly sticky strand of spider web. If you’ve been through a forest trail you can appreciate the situation. You’re out there enjoying the scenery and seeing life as created by God and all of a sudden, Bam! A line of web is pressing against your face. If it had been the whole web of course it would have been noticed before walking into it, but since it is merely a strand of silky entrapment, it blended into the environment perfectly without detection. It’s not enough to destroy the day, but as you step back to peel the lone clinging line from your face, it can lead to two main questions. The first being, why could I not see this before I ran into it. The second, and perhaps more pressing question, just where is the spider now?

Now, having scraped the webs from my beard, I am alone in reflection as I more cautiously move forward through webs of deceit embedded into an environment of Truth.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” —Jesus (John 14: 6)

Our Best Christmas Performance Ever

Growing up I often heard the story of the ruff and tumble Herdman children who came to church enticed by snacks and ended up volunteering to be in the Christmas play. As time went on the six Herdman’s took over the production, caused anxiety among the adults, and put their rustic twist on the play. Yet in the end, the town deemed it the best Christmas pageant ever.*

Stripped away from their performance was the polished perfection of rehearsed lines and overly practiced movement across the stage. Stripped away were all the pretenses that can so often lead us astray. The Herdman’s brought authentic worship for a baby king. In a similar fashion, I witnessed something yesterday that brought a raw emotion to me from the tips of the hairs that stood up on my neck to the watery vision of my eyes. The Village children of our compound were at it again.

In the past two weeks my sons and all their friends have been working together to create gingerbread houses, singing carols, playing games, and in general having a good Kenyan Christmas holiday in our compound. Yet yesterday was different.

 

They rode in on their makeshift donkey carrying the unborn king.

And when they arrived they found no room in the inn so had to settle for a lowly manger. After wrapping the baby in swaddling cloth, and in true awe, they couldn’t take their eyes off of him.

Even a rough and tumble shepherd with his trusty sheep was brought in from the margins of society to witness the greatest gift of all.

As the narrator belted out the story line from the Jesus Storybook Bible, and the angel made her appearance to all involved, the watching audience sat amazed at the transformation unfolding.

Like the Herdman children in the 1971 book*, it was unexpected and it was real to those looking on. I imagine the events of the first Christmas must have been very similar. From the shocked parents and neighbors of Mary to the overwhelmed and fearful shepherds. Or the unscripted haste with which people took off to search for this king above all other kings. When the truth is right in front of you, you can’t help but be overwhelmed at what “has happened, with which the Lord has made known to us.”**

The Village children performed from the heart “glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told to them.”*** And it truly was our best Christmas performance ever.

* The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson

** Luke 2:15

*** Luke 2:20

Reentry

Sometimes the night was beautiful. Sometimes the sky was so far away. 

Sometimes it seemed to stoop so close. You could touch it but your heart would break.*

The carefree days of summer are rapidly smoldering into extinction. It was a time of exploring with friends. And a time of grasping onto rays of sunlight for as long as parents allowed. A time when negotiations were made, and play was extended. And a time when negotiations broke down. A time when the nightly scream was “must play,” however, the fatigued body always overcame giving in to summer exhaustion, allowing for rest to arrive. It was summer.

Sometimes the morning came too soon. Sometimes the day could be so hot.

The was so much work left to do. But so much You’d already done.*

 

The summer’s battle cry of freedom still rings out, yet much momentum is dissipating into the winds of educational conformity. Batteries are charged. Now it’s time for reentry.

And step by step you’ll lead me

And I will follow You all of my days*

* Sometimes by Step by Rich Mullins

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

 

 

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

 

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

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.