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)

Such a Time

Here we are. Enclosed by an invisible force wrecking havoc upon the mind and challenging the heart. An enemy floating within and without our walls. Replacing our vibrant lives with colorless fear all while stripping away our individual and collective dignity. We find ourselves fenced in, “for such a time as this.”

It’s an interesting call to action, “for such a time as this”*, but what is this phrase really calling us to do? Originally it was stated in a scolding manner to a young woman. She was being challenged by her uncle to take into consideration all that lay beyond herself. Her location and position in society were called into question by having her reflect on what it truly is that she is called to do. Esther’s uncle was reminding her that she was chosen to set aside her self interests and step up to face uncertainty and a looming enemy head on. She didn’t create her circumstances. She didn’t desire to be involved. She didn’t even think she could make a difference. But Esther realized she was part of a much larger story line and knew that as a follower of the one true God, she had been created and given the voice for such a time as this.

The oppressive beast of today may look different from what Esther faced, but it stems from the same brokenness of humanity. And so we are still left to ask ourselves, “What have we been called for?” It’s a good question, but it’s also a hard question. It’s easy to be a follower of something when all is well, but what about when life is full of uncertainties and revulsion? What about when monstrous systemic viruses rear their ugly head?

As a follower of the one true God, there is little option of what we must do. We may not be the final voice that slays the beast, but we are all called to speak out in truth as we do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.** And we are called to this action, for such a time as this.

 

* Esther 4:14

**Micah 6:8

 

Hope in You

You came in to a world that chose to ignore you and despise

A world choosing self, believing lies, and refusing to give you even a tithe

Yet you looked right through us and saw our brokenness, and we saw compassion in your eyes.

You left it all and came when we did not deserve

We fought over worldly status, but you abandoned your throne and came to serve

I don’t deserve your service, but somehow still I have the nerve to live a life of self-service

You claimed to be the I AM and then,

You walked on water, went to hell and came back again

I was alone in the desert of night, wasting away, thirst cutting my soul like a knife

You came to me, my light, my living water, bringing me out of death to life.

I aimed to follow you; yet my intentions were thin, full of meaningless attempts to cover up my sin

I heard you calling out to me, telling me of hope from above

And I again turned from you, hiding among the rocks of despair, but still hungry, desperate, and craving for your love.

You came to me, like a dove from heaven, saying you were the door and the only way in.

You took my shame, took my pain, took my sinful name-replaced it with your name, and said I am enough.

You Resuscitated me. Rejuvenated me. I’m Rescued and Resurrected. You brought me back to life. You are the only way, the only truth, and the true meaning to life.

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

 

 

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.

 

 

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