2016 some back stories

The songs inside dried up for a while.  Over the course of a year I wrote this once and it's like an episode 4 or something that falls in the middle of stories already told. I'm back pedaling to 2016 on my stories.  Hoping to prime the pump again.

Oh Lord, I want to write again.  I want a song to sing again.

Help me find the music in this land where my forefathers died and this land of the pilgrim’s bride. Let freedom ring in my heart again too.

March 30 Great Rift Valley picture

Daktari and I were out on a date in the scenic city at a fancy schmancy aquarium that journeys you experientially from Appalachia down the Tennessee River to the Gulf of Mexico.  It’s lovely and serene and so very local.  But they juxtaposed a picture of the Great Rift Valley there in the peaceful places of Tennessee with the bluegrass music.  I don’t know why they put that picture there, but it was like a magic porthole that the Narnia kids fell into.  The gravitational force pulled my heart out and left me wondering- how can this even be the same world?  How can I be way over here in this skin and have that big beautiful prairie life so long gone? 

Thankful to have both.  Heart brokenly thankful.

Monday April 4

Cherry blossom petals blowing down over a swarm of happy 2^nd graders.  Little Miss calls them the “tooth graders”.  The playground time on these sunny spring days when he doesn’t know I’m watching is magic.  Little boy, let your heart be alive!  I can’t keep you in with me forever like that cherry blossom branch in the jar.  You must thrive in this season and be brave enough to be kind to the weak and be kind enough to be brave for them.  Tell them about Jesus- the best thing they’ll ever learn.  Tell them how they are loved enough God let His Son die for them so they can live this abundant spring blossoms blowing over the playground life in the fullness of His presence. 

Friday April 9

At home folding laundry.  Enjoying the new almost found rhythm of life with just my preschooler and me.

 I sang “Born Free” to her today and I cried.  It just overcame me.  The vision of that life in Kenya, the savannah, the exotic freedom of childhood in a mission compound, the life on the edge of adventure, as free as the grass grows. Her little body and big big spirit that longs to be there again- it overwhelms me.  It has dominated these past 9 months for her and feels like a beautiful memory that is so warm and so intensely beautiful and difficult to manage.  I don’t like to lift that band-aid up too often because the feelings are still tender.  Hers and mine.

Wednesday April 13

He did it.  He told them the truth today.

The 2^nd grade teacher said “What’s the most important thing on the One Dollar bill?” and Man-cub said “In God We Trust”. 

“Why?”  They wanted to know-

And he says: “Well because God is like, way more important than money”.

This public school thing might work.

Monday April 18

In this wilderness of material pleasures, my soul desperately needs my Savior.  I wither under the vacancy sign in my heart as it flits to and fro from vanity to vanity.  Little Miss tells me we go to too many shops in America and don’t see enough people.  Ouch. 

When we first moved back I listened to a lot of Rich Mullins and Andrew Peterson music because they sound like home, they felt/feel the spiritual homesickness that I felt so intensely as a sojourner.  But now we have bought a house. 

She says “Kenya is my home.” And he says “No, America is our home”. 

But can a person truly buy a home? 

No. 

The Lord is our home I tell them.

And she adamantly joins the ancient faith declaring aloud in the carpool line “Heaven is my home.  I’m a Heavener!”

Wednesday April 20

Chattanooga is in the middle of a gang war.  The tooth graders are being kept indoors for recess all week it looks like because of that.  No outside play?  But the weather is so lovely and their hearts are so alive with the wiggles and the earth is so beautiful, right there on the playground that is overlooked by Look Out Mountain. 

Dr. King even said “From Look Out Mountain Tennessee, Let freedom ring!

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.”

And here we are, trying to do this American life again/ for the first time and trying to seek first the Kingdom of God, and not be caught up in the fear and consumerism and frenetic and lonely pace of life. 

We took two little friends out to play after school this week.  They understood about shootings.  One of them said “My uncle got shot behind Food City” like it was as normal as driving in a car.  Her reality accepts that as normal.  Her world is being built in the projects.  My kids have seen poverty in Africa, but they have not known poverty with violence before. 

But like Dr. King also said “…their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.”

So they sit indoors looking out the porthole at the beauty and feel that longing too.

Oh Lord, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.  Let us work for it here too.  Bring your Kingdom Lord, so we can have our Home at last.

Pleasant places

Smooth white shiny mug of hot brown Kenyan coffee and many many little 2 wheeled taxis going piki piki piki piki under my window across the dirt road to start the Kenyan morning. So many school children with smooth brown heads and gingham uniforms are riding to school at 6:30 a.m.  Our children tried to hike with me a fraction of the distance over the river, but by the end of the day everyone is too tired to make that commute- the walk to school, the walk to work, the walk to water for the dry season is bearing down too.  But life in the village across the river still reminds me of the goodness of Africa and the traditions of community and respect and the beauty of bright colored paint and fabric over rustic frames.   We are refreshed by the friendships and camp style mugs of hot creamy chai full to the brim and we are too full to eat again until the next morning. 

It all seems so normal, natural, and right to my brain.  Even the things I see as glaring injustices are still predictable and understandable somewhat here.  I love life here.  Even when it’s awful and unendurable and frightening I love it and hate it and love it again.  The Man-cub and Little-miss are playing so hard  with so many kids every day here that any remaining baby fat has melted off in the hot equatorial sun.  Their hearts are more than happy doing this life here.  Man-cub asks if we can live here again for another 2 years, or 5. Oh, what about our wonderful puppy back home, the Golden Dog? She at least has a staying power of fidelity and cute and cuddliness that they are willing to board a plane to America for.

Africa has an incredible staying power that undergirds many vulnerabilities.  People come and go and come and go and seasons change, technology and development change but Africa remains.  I read that or a line like that in a Maya Angelou book called “All God’s Children Need Travelling Shoes”.  I love wearing my travelling shoes to come back and witness what she meant. If I didn't have the freedom to come and go, I think I would love it less both here and there.

I am impacted by gratitude for the awesome privilege of living a life here in the rich beauty of community and the harsh ugliness of community and also in the safe and sanguine picket fenced yard of my America life.  How did I get so lucky as to have it both ways?!  I can tell you the secret.  It’s because My Father really loves me and He listened to my prayer for a home on earth and then yet for the wings to fly into His wild and wonderful world, refreshed and filled up to overflowing.  The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.  Psalm 16

strike

strike:

What would you do?

The over simplified version of the situation at hand: the doctors nation wide have been on strike for more than 50 days now due to deplorable working conditions and pitiful salaries at public hospitals.  We arrived on the tails of a crisis gone bad to worse.  5,000 Kenyan physicians nationwide serve 45 million people.  They are worn out beyond what can be paid.  The government agreed to a collective bargaining agreement several years ago to increase the salaries and provide better working conditions in hospitals where it is not uncommon to have less equipment than one thermometer.  The agreement has not been kept so now the doctors have called a strike until it is implemented.  The government has threatened to sack 4,000 doctors this Friday if they do not return to work. 

Meanwhile the private hospitals are open for the few who can afford to pay.  Tenwek is a private mission hospital so we are carrying on under the pressure of bloated capacity and standing room only, triaging the patients according to their likelihood to recover. 

One might be tempted to get depressed or worse, despair.  Some might be tempted to do more and try harder until one is burst at the seams from a particularly western disease called the God-complex.

 It's a complex situation too.  

But we are not the Hero who is competent to defeat any of the systemic evils of this world save for the power of the Risen Christ at work in our hearts.  We don't have to solve this.  We only have to be faithful.  Only by staring through certain death to the back door that was blasted out there by His Resurrection, can we find the strength to endure for even another day.  So while some trust in collective bargaining, some trust in better equipment, some trust in democratic systems or scientific materialism, we trust in the Name of the Lord Our God and that’s how we continue.

The Second Time Around

Sometimes you turn around a corner in the dark and there are a couple giant elephants standing in the road.  Framed in your headlights, even when you’re not looking for them, even when you’re tired at the end of the day and it’s later than you’re supposed to be out driving.  Those are BIG surprises, but they’re also what you’re looking for.

            This is the first day off in a couple weeks’ work, the second time around in Kenya.  The first few minutes to sit and think, with (Psalm 18) open in front of me and the warm January African sun on my back.  “I love you, Oh Lord my strength…The cords of the grave coiled around me; the snares of death confronted me…He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters…”  Very real here.

            What’s the same?  Desperate joy around us here.  In the open medical ward at Tenwek, so many very sick folks receive your morning greeting, “Habari za asubuhi” (what is the news this morning?) and no matter what they’re experiencing: pain, fear, etc.  Their answer “Mzuri” (good news).

            What else is the same?  This is a place of stunning natural beauty.  I just saw it today after 2 weeks.  Everything at work seems deeply infused with meaning.  The kids are outside playing at least 10 hours per day.  K has spent a couple Sabbaths in the village.

            What is different?  We come here as short term visitors for a month.  The missionaries are almost all different.  The teaching program for internship has changed a great deal.  There is a doctor’s strike ongoing; all public health services are closed.  The volume of patients, already high, gets higher still.  We are leading a global health rotation from UT with first time visitors to Kenya.  Trying to see it through their eyes, explain some things, but not too much.

 

            What was a highlight?  Renewing relationships, and being remembered.  Experiencing this place with different eyes, no longer fully shaded by materialism.  Our lives are built on the story of a Man who was raised from the dead; how can I assume that medical knowledge/biochemistry has a solution to all these problems.  There have been some good deaths.  And some good lives saved.  And even more lives and souls will be saved by the ones who are trained here.  This photo is from graduation of some surgeons at Tenwek.

            What was a lowlight?  In medicine here, everyone comes to the hospital as a last resort.  They come for help, and many times that is not found in medicine (a lesson I need to learn every day).  I forget this, and the weight of these tragedies feels too much again.  20% mortality rate on the medical ward.  These words quoted during the graduation yesterday: “For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it.” (Mark 8:35)

            This is the good life.

Missing.

“Mommy, I miss the shops in Kenya”.  I think automatically she means Mama Kwamboga’s shop where we went daily for bread and conversation.  But she says she likes the shops better there because they have tiny carts for the kids to push.  Then I know she means the super markets in the city we would visit once every 6 weeks.  I hated those shopping trips to the giant stores that exposed my bulk consumption in the midst of a society of minimal means.  I would hear the clerks checkout my items in quantities they couldn’t fathom and they'd remark softly in Kiswahili about the greediness of Americans.   So I reduced our consumption to sooth my guilt and go through the painful enculturation process.   But Little Miss didn’t know all of these things, she just enjoyed driving her own tiny cart around the store. And the way that Kenyans love children and yet don't idolize them either.





Today we were driving back from another exhausting American exercise in consumerism and the shuffle of  songs came suddenly:
"On Jordan's Stormy Banks I stand, and cast a wishful eye..." 
The tune has been buried down deep in our hearts from the times when we were strangers in a strange land singing loudly over the muddy roads "I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land". 
Her eyes look down and her lips pucker out.  We are lurched back into that memory.
"I want to see Ellie" she says mournfully.

Man Cub left his Neverland.  He climbs a banister in our rental house now and the muscle memory makes his mouth blurt out “I miss Loquat hill”: the steep bank of terraced hillside at Tenwek where he and his age mates would climb trees, eat the loquat fruits and absorb mud.

In Kipsigis language, “missing” means very good. It’s a reply to “how are you”.  So I started thinking of missing as a positive thing rather than negative.  I'm glad they miss it.   What if they didn’t miss it?  That would be even worse.

Nowadays I drink cold bitter coffee alone at 10 am, where it used to be hot creamy chai with friends at 10 every day. I prayed that I would not be bitter over things there.   It isn't all sweet memories of course.  And God has heard my request.  My heart is not bitter, it is warmed by the goodness of God's mercy, even in the tears.  I am thankful for the deep drink of a life living a dream that we were given. 

And it’s a severe mercy to endure the end of something we love rather than to endure the end of love.  (Sheldon Vanauken’s “A Severe Mercy”)

Bridges

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Bridges are precarious for creatures. In the crazy scary true story of “The Ghost and The Darkness”, man-eating lions haunt the colonial workers in British East Africa who were building a railroad bridge through Tsavo, Kenya. Bridge building is dangerous, but the goal is to bring worlds together. 

When we went to Missionary Training International in Colorado both before and after our years in Kenya, they taught us to use the transition bridge as an analogy for the feelings of being settled, unsettling, chaos in the middle, then resettling, and settled again on the other side of the transition.   It gave vocabulary to us and our kids so man-cub could say “I feel like I’m in total chaos!” when in fact our whole family was feeling that way a few weeks ago.  And I could use that time to remind [myself and] him of where our True Peace is: not in a place but in a Person- Jesus Christ.

Flash back to a bridge story from Kenya:

On one of my last excursions in the villages around Tenwek, I was taking about 15 house-helpers out to the home of Pastor Francis who has also been cooking for missionaries for about 30 years.  His friends wanted to honor him by visiting his home and bringing blessings.  In Kenya, people truly believe that “to have a visitor is to have a blessing”.  So we journeyed out about 15 kilometers to his home for a visit with hot chai in tin mugs, fresh mandazi- a local homemade doughnut, speeches honoring the host and hostess, speeches welcoming the visitors, me choking back the “golly this is the last time” tears, and then the gift giving and singing. Singing to the Lord for joy, singing to honor Pastor Francis and his wife.  Singing by the Kipsigis men and women is done in their natural voice- no frills but pure belting it out from their truest voice.  No reserve or self- consciousness, but lots and lots of singing.  It’s not like the Zulu singers of South Africa that you may have heard, but the acapella harmonies will flash you forward still to the gathering of all the saints around the throne of God.  It is a magical experience to be there in a humble home with newspaper walls, dirt floors, a single solar light bulb and the evening closing in outside but the warmth of the room radiating a blessing to the whole community.  And they wanted to give Pastor a new blue suit, shirt, tie, socks, shoes, blanket, and a dress for his wife.  Presentations are always a big deal in Kenya.  Ceremony and honoring and gift giving are really important to people. They wanted to do this before I left and they didn’t have a car to reach that far away village after work where he and his family have lived for generations.

I am so so very blessed to have been there.  I felt so accepted there among my friends, even as the only white person for miles and miles. Even as it got dark on the drive home and I’m not supposed to have been out after dark driving, I felt so full of life and blessed beyond reason.  Then they said it.  “Wait. The bridge is out.”  We were at a hairpin turn on the bottom of a hill where a natural spring runs under the road.  The right hand side of the road had fallen down under the pressure of too many dump trucks that are building further up the road. Okaaaay…So driving off a bridge is a pretty legitimate fear, right?  I decided to do a 37 point turn around and let my friends walk home from there.   Stella road with me the extra distance to keep me company (In Kenya people do not like for you to be alone). They all texted me to make sure that I arrived home safely.   The songs were still ringing in my ears. Oh, how I love and miss those times and those people.

Only a few days after that, Daktari, the Wife, Man-Cub, and Little Miss are all on a big red bus riding around London.  We drive over the famous Tower Bridge, and London Bridge (which is not falling down), and zoom back to Heathrow to fly all the way across the Atlantic.  Effie told me that the airplanes are too fast for the heart to catch up and we find ourselves in the West with bits of Africa still all over us.

We are now living in Chattanooga- a Cherokee word meaning “rock coming to a point- what we call now "Lookout Mountain".  We have a lot of bridges here in the “Scenic City/ Gig City/ River City”.  One of the bridges is actually part of the historic Trail of Tears where Chief John Ross and the Cherokee Indians were forced out of Tennessee to Oklahoma by the president on the US 20 Dollar bill- another Tennessean.  So many bridges and transitions in my life, but nothing like the Cherokee went through here.  Little Miss calls out at all the bridges “Look!  Are we in London!?”

Yes, darlin, I too am disoriented with my body on one continent and my heart divided between two.  Two years ago 5-year old Man-cub explained to his sister “We don’t have a home now, we just live free in the wild”.  And again it feels like we are in the wilderness walking by faith one day at a time.  In being cross-cultural workers, we have chosen to take this shaky, chaotic, risky life of un and re-settling.  But we get to bring worlds together.

And there are not many people on earth that might be more blessed or more thankful than we are.

What is it?

June 24

Karen Blixen once said, “The cure for anything is salt water- sweat, tears, or the sea.”

Daktari agreed with this home remedy at last, so we went for a few days where the salt water of Zanzibar would wash over us enough that we could begin the painful process of physically leaving Kenya.  Some would call it a beach vacation.

I called it our “Last Resort in Africa” time.

June 30

This was the night we flew.

There was a none-too subtle American lady there at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport.  I call them the Pushy-Affluent-White-lady types (PAWL).  She didn’t like that our family had 13 pieces of luggage to check in. “Hey! What is it blocking the line? How can I get checked in?” (How can I serve my own needs in the midst of bigger needs?) I smile and apologetically wave to say, “It’s me.  We are moving.  Sorry.” (In Kenya everyone always says sorry to express sympathy with what the other may be feeling at the time)  And the PAWLady bellows across the lines “That’s not my problem”. 

Well, it actually was her problem precisely.  And sadly she was the one losing face in front of every Kenyan there for showing her “temper” in public.

Ah, Americans.  Is that what you’re going to be like?

I began having second thoughts about boarding the plane.

July 12

Silver sprinkles of shad minnow raining upwards from the glossy surface of the Tennessee River,

The whitetail near the road and myself, we shared a secret.

It was about how the beauty stopped me in my tracks,

How it brought a tear to my thankful eye.

How lovely a white and pink tipped puff of ethereal, ephemeral delicacy

Could be growing on the hardiest terrain of steep banked country roads.

A wild mimosa tree, proud as a peacock with the glorious flowers for feathers- but silent too, like the whitetail that went bounding through the woods after it got over my non-sense.

Ah, America.

There is beauty in the rare quiet here.

July 16

It’s so hot you can break a sweat without even working and you can wear shorts to let your legs breathe in the sunshine and freedom of living like a PAWL.  Oh, Lord I am one of them after all, aren’t I?

Jupiter and Venus are still up there in the night sky.  We saw them from Zanzibar too.  It feels like Jupiter and Venus are closer to me than my life in Kenya now.  How can we even be on the same terrestrial ball?

But the round white Queen Anne’s Lace is crusting the fields like manna every morning.

What is it?

It is like daily bread in this wilderness time.

Reminding me: He provided for our ancestors here. 

He will provide for my needs too, one day at a time.

There is beauty in taking life one day at a time.

There is Life in taking beauty one day at a time.

And then Uncle Glenn pulls up in his farm truck.

He’s saying to his sister on the phone

“well, I gotta go down to thu co-awp

and git some fertilahzer, and you never know what might come up then,

so I cain’t say fer sure what time I’ll be there”.

That sounded just like Africa.

It was a beautiful and gloriously grounding moment for me.

Karen Blixen also said “God made the world round so that we’d never be able to see too far down the road”.

August 16

Sunday.  Today we got to join in the Lord’s Supper.

Little round flakes of white that we eat.  Not ephemeral, nor ethereal, but solidly grounding the truth of heaven come down to earth.

What is it?

The Bread that came down from Heaven for the Life of the world.

Every side of this world.

Meeting our needs one day at a time.