Returning Home

With evening rapidly approaching, my young son ran up to me holding a book my mother use to read me. It’s a book full of short little poems and although it is not a new book by any means, the lessons it taught hold truer than I could ever have imagined. Joshua opened it up for me, saying, “Here. Start on this page.” The first little poem titled Near and Far* began softly with the words,

Little children far away,

“Cross the ocean wide,

“Though they do not look like us

Are the same inside.”

Initially I wondered if my five year old is understanding current events. Simultaneously my mind thought back to lessons learned at home. Lessons about right and wrong and humanity. With the Golden Rule** as a constant guide, it’s no wonder poems like Near and Far and TV shows like Mr. Rogers Neighborhood helped me grasp the greater command of Love your neighbor as yourself.*** A command of action.

Living out these lessons and sharing them with others does not require grand gestures and dramatic statements, but it does require action in love to step up and step out. After all, treating our neighbor as we want to be treated, in love and dignity, is necessary to restore our road home toward the reconciliation that God had in mind before the world began.

 

Won’t You Be My Neighbor? Reconciliation and Foot-Washing in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

* Near and Far by Kate Cox Goddard

**Matthew 7:12

*** Mark 12:30-31—-Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.”

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

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

 

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

 

 

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!”

 

Say Something Serious

While creating delicious treats over Spring/Easter Break, the boys began to interview each other between sneaking sugary bites of white chocolate and sprinkles.

Michael holding an imaginary microphone out to his older brother. . .

Michael: “Ben-a-min. (which is his pronunciation when speaking quickly) Say something serious.”

Benjamin: “Jesus died on a cross for our sins and he rose three days later.”

Michael: “No. Say something more serious.”

Benjamin: “That’s the most serious.”

 

 

And since it’s serious, shouldn’t we tell everyone around us?

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

 

Disemboweled Rats And Fuzzy Thoughts

“Papa. If you and Mama die we won’t know how to cook,” said Benjamin one evening. Michael’s immediate reply from the bottom bunk was, “Ah man! I don’t know how to cook pizza.” A dialog on death ensued. The take away from it all was that cooking lessons would begin immediately. ***Be prepared for the future.

Sometimes thoughts are fuzzy and time to clarify seems nowhere to be found. Here is a small collection of fuzzy thoughts that are yours for the developing. I have given an initial developmental thought but honestly there are so many avenues for one to take.

Joshua is getting used to helping his brothers go back and forth to school each day. These mini-excursions provide many life enhancing opportunities. Last week he apparently had his fill of opportunities. He started saying good-bye before entering the school gates and then upon entering he went silent. ***Sometimes we say goodbye before we ever arrive, thus sabotaging the experience and crippling our chances to live to our full potential.

Similarly, upon walking up to our gate guard one morning, Benjamin and Michael shook hands saying “Habari. ” The greetings went well until it was Joshua’s turn. When the guard reached his hand out to shake Joshua’s, he was taken aback by Joshua’s clear response of “Noooo!” *** Often we write off people before we even get a chance to know who they really are.

Often I wonder if it is the child strapped to me, or me to the child. Much like the cup of coffee that leads a person around, so too the boy drives the man from the back seat. ***What do we allow to lead us in our lives? 

Of our two outdoor cats it is the small one, who is actually the mother of the larger, that regularly leaves behind half eaten creatures for us to discover upon exiting the house in the morning. Usually the “presents” are left on the doorstep to either appease us or pay for the cat food she eats. This time the gift was a disemboweled rat at her feet and what looked like a pleased prideful look on her little cat face. ***Appreciating gifts cross-culturally can be challenging. Or… watch where you step.

Two small squirrels, which is nothing more than a fancy cousin of the rat, were huddled in the hedge screaming out their last prayers as a hawk circled above. While the natural cycle of life attempted to play out in our yard, our dog ran in circles barking at the hawk. Two boys raced back and forth from the front door to the gate, dragging their feet in the fine red dust trying to get as dirty as possible before going to school, while two cats sat nearby watching the hedge rats. Joshua took the perceived chaos in then looked into my eyes pleadingly and began to shake until I held him tight. *** “So hold me Jesus, cause I’m shaking like a leaf. You have been king of my glory, won’t you be my Prince of Peace.”–Rich Mullins

Just had another awkward breast feeding conversation with Jocinta, our Kenyan house helper. It’s easier to crawl into a hole than to have these breastfeeding discussions. No matter what the benefits are or the fact that “It’s the African way”. . . I just can’t.

There is no easy way to say this so I’ll just be blunt. Children, Geodes and Gold. *** Yeah, I got nothing. I’ll let you work it out. 

 

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.